“Then I guessed right and you too guessed right,” Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch went on in a tranquil voice. “You are right. Marya Timofyevna Lebyadkin is my lawful wife, married to me four and a half years ago in Petersburg. I suppose the blow was on her account?”

Shatov, utterly astounded, listened in silence.

“I guessed, but did not believe it,” he muttered at last, looking strangely at Stavrogin.

“And you struck me?”

Shatov flushed and muttered almost incoherently:

“Because of your fall⁠ ⁠… your lie. I didn’t go up to you to punish you⁠ ⁠… I didn’t know when I went up to you that I should strike you⁠ ⁠… I did it because you meant so much to me in my life⁠ ⁠… I⁠ ⁠…”

“I understand, I understand, spare your words. I am sorry you are feverish. I’ve come about a most urgent matter.”