She clasped her hands, looked reproachfully at Shatov and hid her face in the pillow.

“Marie, what is it?” he cried with painful alarm.

“How could you, how could you⁠ ⁠… Oh, you ungrateful man!”

“Marie, forgive me, Marie⁠ ⁠… I only asked you what his name should be. I don’t know.⁠ ⁠…”

“Ivan, Ivan.” She raised her flushed and tear-stained face. “How could you suppose we should call him by another horrible name?”

“Marie, calm yourself; oh, what a nervous state you are in!”