To my surprise Shatov spoke aloud, just as though she were not in the room.
“Good day, Shatushka!” Mlle. Lebyadkin said genially.
“I’ve brought you a visitor, Marya Timofyevna,” said Shatov.
“The visitor is very welcome. I don’t know who it is you’ve brought, I don’t seem to remember him.” She scrutinised me intently from behind the candle, and turned again at once to Shatov (and she took no more notice of me for the rest of the conversation, as though I had not been near her).
“Are you tired of walking up and down alone in your garret?” she laughed, displaying two rows of magnificent teeth.
“I was tired of it, and I wanted to come and see you.”
Shatov moved a bench up to the table, sat down on it and made me sit beside him.
“I’m always glad to have a talk, though you’re a funny person, Shatushka, just like a monk. When did you comb your hair last? Let me do it for you.” And she pulled a little comb out of her pocket. “I don’t believe you’ve touched it since I combed it last.”
“Well, I haven’t got a comb,” said Shatov, laughing too.
“Really? Then I’ll give you mine; only remind me, not this one but another.”