"The old woman likes to have the lamp and she hadn't time to do it to-day," muttered Kirillov. "You don't say prayers yourself?" "I pray to everything. You see the spider crawling on the wall, I look at it and thank it for crawling." His eyes glowed again. He kept looking straight at Stavrogin with firm and unflinching expression. Stavrogin frowned and watched him disdainfully, but there was no mockery in his eyes. "I'll bet that when I come next time you'll be believing in God too," he said, getting up and taking his hat. "Why?" said Kirillov, getting up too. "If you were to find out that you believe in God, then you'd believe in Him; but since you don't know that you believe in Him, then you don't believe in Him," laughed Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. "That's not right," Kirillov pondered, "you've distorted the idea. It's a flippant joke. Remember what you have meant in my life, Stavrogin." "Good-bye, Kirillov." "Come at night; when will you?" "Why, haven't you forgotten about to-morrow?" "Ach, I'd forgotten. Don't be uneasy. I won't oversleep. At nine o'clock. I know how to wake up when I want to. I go to bed saying 'seven o'clock,' and I wake up at seven o'clock, 'ten o'clock,' and I wake up at ten o'clock." "You have remarkable powers," said Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch, looking at his pale face. "I'll come and open the gate." "Don't trouble, Shatov will open it for me." "Ah, Shatov. Very well, good-bye." VI The door of the empty house in which Shatov was lodging was not closed; but, making his way into the passage, Stavrogin found himself in utter darkness, and began feeling with his hand for the stairs to the upper story. Suddenly a door opened upstairs and a light appeared. Shatov did not come out himself, but simply opened his door. When Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was standing in the doorway of the room, he saw Shatov standing at the table in the corner, waiting expectantly. "Will you receive me on business?" he queried from the doorway. "Come in and sit down," answered Shatov. "Shut the door; stay, I'll shut it." He locked the door, returned to the table, and sat down, facing Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch. He had grown thinner during that week, and now he seemed in a fever. "You've been worrying me to death," he said, looking down, in a soft half-whisper. "Why didn't you come?" "You were so sure I should come then?" "Yes, stay, I have been delirious... perhaps I'm delirious now.... Stay a moment." He got up and seized something that was lying on the uppermost of his three bookshelves. It was a revolver. "One night, in delirium, I fancied that you were coming to kill me, and early next morning I spent my last farthing on buying a revolver from that good-for-nothing fellow Lyamshin; I did not mean to let you do it. Then I came to myself again... I've neither powder nor shot; it has been lying there on the shelf till now; wait a minute...." He got up and was opening the casement.