That is the most important question, because we won't go to Moscow for it, and the local printer is impossible for such a publication. I made up my mind long ago to start my own press, in your name, let's suppose, and I know maman would allow it if it was in your name ..."
"And how do you know I can be a printer?" Shatov asked sullenly.
"But Pyotr Stepanovich, still in Switzerland, pointed me precisely to you, as one who could run a press and was familiar with the business. He even wanted to give me a note for you, but I forgot."
Shatov, as I recall now, changed countenance. He stood there for a few more seconds and then suddenly walked out of the room.
Liza got angry.
"Does he always walk out like that?" she turned to me.
I shrugged, but Shatov suddenly returned, went straight up to the table, and placed on it the bundle of newspapers he had taken:
"I won't be your collaborator, I have no time..."
"But why, why? You seem to have become angry?" Liza asked in an upset and pleading voice.
The tone of her voice seemed to strike him; for a few moments he studied her attentively, as if wishing to penetrate to her very soul.
"It makes no difference," he muttered softly, "I don't want to..."
And he left for good. Liza was completely struck, somehow even excessively, or so it seemed to me.
"A remarkably strange man!" Mavriky Nikolaevich loudly observed.
III
Strange," certainly, yet there was in all this a great deal of obscurity. Something was implied in it. I decidedly did not believe in this publication; then there was this stupid letter, which all too clearly offered some sort of denunciation "with documents," which they all said nothing about, and instead talked of something entirely different; finally, there was this press, and Shatov's sudden departure precisely because they began to speak of a press. All this led me to think that something had already happened here before me of which I knew nothing; that, consequently, I was not wanted, and that it was all none of my business. Besides, it was time to go, it was enough for a first visit. I went up to Lizaveta Nikolaevna to say good-bye.
She seemed to have forgotten I was in the room and continued standing in the same place by the table, deep in thought, her head bowed, staring fixedly at one chosen spot in the carpet.
"Ah, you, too? Good-bye," she prattled, in a habitually sweet voice. "Give my greetings to Stepan Trofimovich and persuade him to come to me soon. Mavriky Nikolaevich, Anton Lavrentievich is leaving. I'm sorry maman cannot come and say good-bye to you..."
I walked out and had even gone down the stairs when a servant suddenly overtook me on the porch.
"My lady begs you very much to come back ..."
"The lady, or Lizaveta Nikolaevna?" "That's the one, sir."
I found Liza no longer in that big drawing room where we had been sitting, but in the adjoining reception room. The door to the drawing room, where Mavriky Nikolaevich now remained alone, was tightly shut.
Liza smiled at me, but she was pale. She stood in the middle of the room, obviously undecided, obviously struggling with herself; but all at once she took me by the hand and silently, quickly led me to the window.
"I want to see herat once," she whispered, turning to me her ardent, strong, impatient gaze, not allowing for a shadow of contradiction. "I must see herwith my own eyes, and I ask your help."
She was in a complete frenzy and—in despair.
"Who is it you wish to see, Lizaveta Nikolaevna?" I asked in fright.
"This Lebyadkin woman, the lame one ... Is it true that she's lame?"
I was astounded.
"I've never seen her, but I've heard that she's lame, I heard it only yesterday," I murmured with hasty readiness and also in a whisper.
"I absolutely must see her. Could you arrange it for this same day?"
I felt terribly sorry for her.
"That is impossible, and, besides, I wouldn't have any idea how to do it," I began persuading her. "I'll go to Shatov..."
"If you don't arrange it by tomorrow, I shall go to her myself, alone, because Mavriky Nikolaevich has refused. I'm counting only on you, I have no one else; I spoke stupidly with Shatov... I'm sure you are a completely honest man and, perhaps, completely devoted to me, only do arrange it."
A passionate desire to help her in everything came over me.
"Here is what I'll do," I thought a bit, "I'll go myself and see her today for certain,
for certain!
"Tell him that I have this wish and that I can wait no longer, but that I was not deceiving him just now. He left, perhaps, because he's a very honest man and did not like it that I seemed to be deceiving him. I wasn't deceiving him; I really want to publish and to start a press..."
"He is honest, honest," I confirmed with fervor.
"However, if it doesn't get arranged by tomorrow, then I will go myself, whatever may come of it, and even if everyone finds out."
"I cannot come to you before three o'clock tomorrow," I observed, recollecting myself somewhat.
"At three o'clock, then. I guessed right, then, at Stepan Trofimovich's yesterday, that you are somewhat devoted to me?" she smiled, pressing my hand in parting and hurrying to the abandoned Mavriky Nikolaevich.
I left, oppressed by my promise, and not understanding what had happened. I had seen a woman in real despair, who was not afraid to compromise herself by confiding in a man who was almost a stranger. Her feminine smile in a moment so difficult for her, and the hint that she had already noticed my feelings yesterday, simply stabbed my heart; yet I felt pity, pity—that was all! Her secrets suddenly became something sacred for me, and even if they had been revealed to me right then, I think I would have stopped my ears and refused to hear any more. I only had a foreboding of something... And yet I had absolutely no idea how I was going to arrange anything here. What's more, even then I still did not know precisely what had to be arranged: a meeting, but what sort of meeting? And how bring them together? All my hopes lay in Shatov, though I might have known beforehand that he would not help with anything. But I rushed to him anyway.
IV
Only in the evening, past seven, did I find him at home. To my surprise, he had visitors—Alexei Nilych, and another gentleman I was half acquainted with, a certain Shigalyov, the brother of Virginsky's wife.
This Shigalyov must already have spent about two months in our town; I do not know where he came from; the only thing I had heard about him was that he had published some article in a progressive Petersburg magazine. Virginsky introduced us by chance in the street. Never in my life have I seen a more grim, gloomy, glowering face on a man. He looked as if he were expecting the destruction of the world, and not just sometime, according to prophecies which might not be fulfilled, but quite definitely, round about morning, the day after tomorrow, at ten twenty-five sharp. Incidentally, we said almost nothing then, but only shook hands, looking like a pair of conspirators. I was struck most of all by the unnatural size of his ears—long, broad, and thick, sticking out somehow peculiarly. His movements were clumsy and slow. If Liputin ever did dream that a phalanstery might be realized in our province, this man was sure to know the day and hour when it would come about. He made a sinister impression on me; meeting him now at Shatov's, I was surprised, all the more so in that Shatov generally had no love of visitors.
Even from the stairs they could be heard talking very loudly, all three at once, and apparently arguing; but as soon as I appeared, they all fell silent. They had been arguing standing up, and now suddenly they all sat down, so that I, too, had to sit down. The stupid silence would not get broken for about three full minutes. Shigalyov, though he recognized me, pretended he did not know me—certainly not from hostility, but just so. Alexei Nilych and I bowed slightly to each other, but silently, and for some reason did not shake hands. Shigalyov finally began looking at me sternly and gloweringly, in the most naive conviction that I would suddenly get up and leave. Finally, Shatov rose from his chair, and everyone else suddenly jumped up. They walked out without saying good-bye; only Shigalyov, already in the doorway, said to Shatov, who was seeing them out: