“For God’s sake!” cried Shatov, rising impulsively from his seat.
“I beg your pardon?” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch looked at him inquiringly.
“Ask it, ask your question for God’s sake,” Shatov repeated in indescribable excitement, “but on condition that I ask you a question too. I beseech you to allow me … I can’t … ask your question!”
Stavrogin waited a moment and then began. “I’ve heard that you have some influence on Marya Timofyevna, and that she was fond of seeing you and hearing you talk. Is that so?”
“Yes … she used to listen …” said Shatov, confused.
“Within a day or two I intend to make a public announcement of our marriage here in the town.”
“Is that possible?” Shatov whispered, almost with horror.
“I don’t quite understand you. There’s no sort of difficulty about it, witnesses to the marriage are here. Everything took place in Petersburg, perfectly legally and smoothly, and if it has not been made known till now, it is simply because the witnesses, Kirillov, Pyotr Verhovensky, and Lebyadkin (whom I now have the pleasure of claiming as a brother-in-law) promised to hold their tongues.”
“I don’t mean that … You speak so calmly … but good! Listen! You weren’t forced into that marriage, were you?”
“No, no one forced me into it.” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch smiled at Shatov’s importunate haste.