"You're partly right there and partly not," Stavrogin answered with the same indifference, almost listlessness. "There's no doubt that there's a great deal that's fanciful about it, as there always is in such cases: a handful magnifies its size and significance. To my thinking, if you will have it, the only one is Pyotr Verhovensky, and it's simply good-nature on his part to consider himself only an agent of the society. But the fundamental idea is no stupider than others of the sort. They are connected with the _Internationale._ They have succeeded in establishing agents in Russia, they have even hit on a rather original method, though it's only theoretical, of course. As for their intentions here, the movements of our Russian organisation are something so obscure and almost always unexpected that really they might try anything among us. Note that Verhovensky is an obstinate man." "He's a bug, an ignoramus, a buffoon, who understands nothing in Russia!" cried Shatov spitefully. "You know him very little. It's quite true that none of them understand much about Russia, but not much less than you and I do. Besides, Verhovensky is an enthusiast." "Verhovensky an enthusiast?" "Oh, yes. There is a point when he ceases to be a buffoon and becomes a madman. I beg you to remember your own expression: 'Do you know how powerful a single man may be?' Please don't laugh about it, he's quite capable of pulling a trigger. They are convinced that I am a spy too. As they don't know how to do things themselves, they're awfully fond of accusing people of being spies." "But you're not afraid, are you?" "N--no. I'm not very much afraid.... But your case is quite different. I warned you that you might anyway keep it in mind. To my thinking there's no reason to be offended in being threatened with danger by fools; their brains don't affect the question. They've raised their hand against better men than you or me. It's a quarter past eleven, though." He looked at his watch and got up from his chair. "I wanted to ask you one quite irrelevant question." "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.