Hespentthateveningtillteno’clockgoingfromonelowhaunttoanother。Katiatooturnedupandsanganotherguttersong，howacertain“villainandtyrant”
　　“begankissingKatia。”
　　SvidrigailovtreatedKatiaandtheorgan-grinderandsomesingersandthewaitersandtwolittleclerks。Hewasparticularlydrawntotheseclerksbythefactthattheybothhadcrookednoses，onebenttotheleftandtheothertotheright。Theytookhimfinallytoapleasuregarden，wherehepaidfortheirentrance。Therewasonelankythree-year-oldpine-treeandthreebushesinthegarden，besidesa“Vauxhall，”whichwasinrealityadrinking-barwhereteatoowasserved，andtherewereafewgreentablesandchairsstandingroundit。AchorusofwretchedsingersandadrunkenbutexceedinglydepressedGermanclownfromMunichwitharednoseentertainedthepublic。Theclerksquarrelledwithsomeotherclerksandafightseemedimminent。Svidrigailovwaschosentodecidethedispute。Helistenedtothemforaquarterofanhour，buttheyshoutedsoloudthattherewasnopossibilityofunderstandingthem。TheonlyfactthatseemedcertainwasthatoneofthemhadstolensomethingandhadevensucceededinsellingitonthespottoaJew，butwouldnotsharethespoilwithhiscompanion。FinallyitappearedthatthestolenobjectwasateaspoonbelongingtotheVauxhall。Itwasmissedandtheaffairbegantoseemtroublesome。Svidrigailovpaidforthespoon，gotup，andwalkedoutofthegarden。Itwasaboutsixo’clock。Hehadnotdrunkadropofwineallthistimeandhadorderedteamoreforthesakeofappearancesthananything。
　　Itwasadarkandstiflingevening。Threateningstorm-cloudscameovertheskyaboutteno’clock。Therewasaclapofthunder，andtheraincamedownlikeawaterfall。Thewaterfellnotindrops，butbeatontheearthinstreams。Therewereflashesoflightningeveryminuteandeachflashlastedwhileonecouldcountfive。
　　Drenchedtotheskin，hewenthome，lockedhimselfin，openedthebureau，tookoutallhismoneyandtoreuptwoorthreepapers。Then，puttingthemoneyinhispocket，hewasabouttochangehisclothes，but，lookingoutofthewindowandlisteningtothethunderandtherain，hegaveuptheidea，tookuphishatandwentoutoftheroomwithoutlockingthedoor。HewentstraighttoSonia。Shewasathome。
　　Shewasnotalone:thefourKapernaumovchildrenwerewithher。Shewasgivingthemtea。ShereceivedSvidrigailovinrespectfulsilence，lookingwonderinglyathissoakingclothes。Thechildrenallranawayatonceinindescribableterror。
　　SvidrigailovsatdownatthetableandaskedSoniatositbesidehim。Shetimidlypreparedtolisten。
　　“ImaybegoingtoAmerica，SofyaSemyonovna，”saidSvidrigailov，“andasIamprobablyseeingyouforthelasttime，Ihavecometomakesomearrangements。Well，didyouseetheladyto-day？Iknowwhatshesaidtoyou，youneednottellme。”Soniamadeamovementandblushed。“Thosepeoplehavetheirownwayofdoingthings。Astoyoursistersandyourbrother，theyarereallyprovidedforandthemoneyassignedtothemI’veputintosafekeepingandhavereceivedacknowledgments。Youhadbettertakechargeofthereceipts，incaseanythinghappens。Here，takethem！Wellnow，that’ssettled。Herearethree5-per-centbondstothevalueofthreethousandroubles。Takethoseforyourself，entirelyforyourself，andletthatbestrictlybetweenourselves，sothatnooneknowsofit，whateveryouhear。Youwillneedthemoney，fortogoonlivingintheoldway，SofyaSemyonovna，isbad，andbesidesthereisnoneedforitnow。”
　　“Iamsomuchindebtedtoyou，andsoarethechildrenandmystepmother，”saidSoniahurriedly，“andifI’vesaidsolittle…pleasedon’tconsider…”
　　“That’senough！that’senough！”
　　“Butasforthemoney，ArkadyIvanovitch，Iamverygratefultoyou，butIdon’tneeditnow。Icanalwaysearnmyownliving。Don’tthinkmeungrateful。Ifyouaresocharitable，thatmoney。…”
　　“It’sforyou，foryou，SofyaSemyonovna，andpleasedon’twastewordsoverit。Ihaven’ttimeforit。Youwillwantit。RodionRomanovitchhastwoalternatives:abulletinthebrainorSiberia。”Sonialookedwildlyathim，andstarted。“Don’tbeuneasy，IknowallaboutitfromhimselfandIamnotagossip；Iwon’ttellanyone。Itwasgoodadvicewhenyoutoldhimtogivehimselfupandconfess。Itwouldbemuchbetterforhim。Well，ifitturnsouttobeSiberia，hewillgoandyouwillfollowhim。That’sso，isn’tit？Andifso，you’llneedmoney。You’llneeditforhim，doyouunderstand？Givingittoyouisthesameasmygivingittohim。Besides，youpromisedAmaliaIvanovnatopaywhat’sowing。Iheardyou。Howcanyouundertakesuchobligationssoheedlessly，SofyaSemyonovna？ItwasKaterinaIvanovna’sdebtandnotyours，soyououghtnottohavetakenanynoticeoftheGermanwoman。Youcan’tgetthroughtheworldlikethat。Ifyouareeverquestionedaboutme—to-morroworthedayafteryouwillbeasked—don’tsayanythingaboutmycomingtoseeyounowanddon’tshowthemoneytoanyoneorsayawordaboutit。Well，nowgood-bye。”Hegotup。“MygreetingstoRodionRomanovitch。Bytheway，you’dbetterputthemoneyforthepresentinMr。Razumihin’skeeping。YouknowMr。Razumihin？Ofcourseyoudo。He’snotabadfellow。Takeittohimto-morrowor…whenthetimecomes。Andtillthen，hideitcarefully。”
　　SoniatoojumpedupfromherchairandlookedindismayatSvidrigailov。Shelongedtospeak，toaskaquestion，butforthefirstmomentsshedidnotdareanddidnotknowhowtobegin。
　　“Howcanyou…howcanyoubegoingnow，insuchrain？”
　　“Why，bestartingforAmerica，andbestoppedbyrain！Ha，ha！Good-bye，SofyaSemyonovna，mydear！Liveandlivelong，youwillbeofusetoothers。Bytheway…tellMr。RazumihinIsendmygreetingstohim。TellhimArkadyIvanovitchSvidrigailovsendshisgreetings。Besureto。”
　　Hewentout，leavingSoniainastateofwonderinganxietyandvagueapprehension。
　　Itappearedafterwardsthatonthesameevening，attwentypasteleven，hemadeanotherveryeccentricandunexpectedvisit。Therainstillpersisted。Drenchedtotheskin，hewalkedintothelittleflatwheretheparentsofhisbetrothedlived，inThirdStreetinVassilyevskyIsland。Heknockedsometimebeforehewasadmitted，andhisvisitatfirstcausedgreatperturbation；butSvidrigailovcouldbeveryfascinatingwhenheliked，sothatthefirst，andindeedveryintelligentsurmiseofthesensibleparentsthatSvidrigailovhadprobablyhadsomuchtodrinkthathedidnotknowwhathewasdoingvanishedimmediately。ThedecrepitfatherwaswheeledintoseeSvidrigailovbythetenderandsensiblemother，whoasusualbegantheconversationwithvariousirrelevantquestions。Sheneveraskedadirectquestion，butbeganbysmilingandrubbingherhandsandthen，ifshewereobligedtoascertainsomething—forinstance，whenSvidrigailovwouldliketohavethewedding—shewouldbeginbyinterestedandalmosteagerquestionsaboutParisandthecourtlifethere，andonlybydegreesbroughttheconversationroundtoThirdStreet。Onotheroccasionsthishadofcoursebeenveryimpressive，butthistimeArkadyIvanovitchseemedparticularlyimpatient，andinsistedonseeinghisbetrothedatonce，thoughhehadbeeninformed，tobeginwith，thatshehadalreadygonetobed。Thegirlofcourseappeared。
　　SvidrigailovinformedheratoncethathewasobligedbyveryimportantaffairstoleavePetersburgforatime，andthereforebroughtherfifteenthousandroublesandbeggedheracceptthemasapresentfromhim，ashehadlongbeenintendingtomakeherthistriflingpresentbeforetheirwedding。Thelogicalconnectionofthepresentwithhisimmediatedepartureandtheabsolutenecessityofvisitingthemforthatpurposeinpouringrainatmidnightwasnotmadeclear。Butitallwentoffverywell；eventheinevitableejaculationsofwonderandregret，theinevitablequestionswereextraordinarilyfewandrestrained。Ontheotherhand，thegratitudeexpressedwasmostglowingandwasreinforcedbytearsfromthemostsensibleofmothers。Svidrigailovgotup，laughed，kissedhisbetrothed，pattedhercheek，declaredhewouldsooncomeback，andnoticinginhereyes，togetherwithchildishcuriosity，asortofearnestdumbinquiry，reflectedandkissedheragain，thoughhefeltsincereangerinwardlyatthethoughtthathispresentwouldbeimmediatelylockedupinthekeepingofthemostsensibleofmothers。Hewentaway，leavingthemallinastateofextraordinaryexcitement，butthetendermamma，speakingquietlyinahalfwhisper，settledsomeofthemostimportantoftheirdoubts，concludingthatSvidrigailovwasagreatman，amanofgreataffairsandconnectionsandofgreatwealth—therewasnoknowingwhathehadinhismind。Hewouldstartoffonajourneyandgiveawaymoneyjustasthefancytookhim，sothattherewasnothingsurprisingaboutit。Ofcourseitwasstrangethathewaswetthrough，butEnglishmen，forinstance，areevenmoreeccentric，andallthesepeopleofhighsocietydidn’tthinkofwhatwassaidofthemanddidn’tstandonceremony。Possibly，indeed，hecamelikethatonpurposetoshowthathewasnotafraidofanyone。Aboveall，notawordshouldbesaidaboutit，forGodknowswhatmightcomeofit，andthemoneymustbelockedup，anditwasmostfortunatethatFedosya，thecook，hadnotleftthekitchen。Andaboveallnotawordmustbesaidtothatoldcat，MadameResslich，andsoonandsoon。Theysatupwhisperingtilltwoo’clock，butthegirlwenttobedmuchearlier，amazedandrathersorrowful。
　　Svidrigailovmeanwhile，exactlyatmidnight，crossedthebridgeonthewaybacktothemainland。Therainhadceasedandtherewasaroaringwind。Hebeganshivering，andforonemomenthegazedattheblackwatersoftheLittleNevawithalookofspecialinterest，eveninquiry。Buthesoonfeltitverycold，standingbythewater；heturnedandwenttowardsY。Prospect。Hewalkedalongthatendlessstreetforalongtime，almosthalfanhour，morethanoncestumblinginthedarkonthewoodenpavement，butcontinuallylookingforsomethingontherightsideofthestreet。Hehadnoticedpassingthroughthisstreetlatelythattherewasahotelsomewheretowardstheend，builtofwood，butfairlylarge，anditsnameherememberedwassomethinglikeAdrianople。Hewasnotmistaken:thehotelwassoconspicuousinthatGod-forsakenplacethathecouldnotfailtoseeiteveninthedark。Itwasalong，blackenedwoodenbuilding，andinspiteofthelatehourtherewerelightsinthewindowsandsignsoflifewithin。Hewentinandaskedaraggedfellowwhomethiminthecorridorforaroom。Thelatter，scanningSvidrigailov，pulledhimselftogetherandledhimatoncetoacloseandtinyroominthedistance，attheendofthecorridor，underthestairs。Therewasnoother，allwereoccupied。Theraggedfellowlookedinquiringly。
　　“Istheretea？”askedSvidrigailov。
　　“Yes，sir。”
　　“Whatelseisthere？”
　　“Veal，vodka，savouries。”
　　“Bringmeteaandveal。”
　　“Andyouwantnothingelse？”heaskedwithapparentsurprise。
　　“Nothing，nothing。”
　　Theraggedmanwentaway，completelydisillusioned。
　　“Itmustbeaniceplace，”thoughtSvidrigailov。“HowwasitIdidn’tknowit？IexpectIlookasifIcamefromacafechantantandhavehadsomeadventureontheway。Itwouldbeinterestingtoknowwhostayhere？”
　　Helightedthecandleandlookedattheroommorecarefully。Itwasaroomsolow-pitchedthatSvidrigailovcouldonlyjuststandupinit；ithadonewindow；thebed，whichwasverydirty，andtheplain-stainedchairandtablealmostfilleditup。Thewallslookedasthoughtheyweremadeofplanks，coveredwithshabbypaper，sotornanddustythatthepatternwasindistinguishable，thoughthegeneralcolour—yellow—couldstillbemadeout。Oneofthewallswascutshortbytheslopingceiling，thoughtheroomwasnotanatticbutjustunderthestairs。
　　Svidrigailovsetdownthecandle，satdownonthebedandsankintothought。Butastrangepersistentmurmurwhichsometimesrosetoashoutinthenextroomattractedhisattention。Themurmurhadnotceasedfromthemomentheenteredtheroom。Helistened:someonewasupbraidingandalmosttearfullyscolding，butheheardonlyonevoice。
　　Svidrigailovgotup，shadedthelightwithhishandandatoncehesawlightthroughacrackinthewall；hewentupandpeepedthrough。Theroom，whichwassomewhatlargerthanhis，hadtwooccupants。Oneofthem，averycurly-headedmanwitharedinflamedface，wasstandingintheposeofanorator，withouthiscoat，withhislegswideaparttopreservehisbalance，andsmitinghimselfonthebreast。Hereproachedtheotherwithbeingabeggar，withhavingnostandingwhatever。Hedeclaredthathehadtakentheotheroutofthegutterandhecouldturnhimoutwhenheliked，andthatonlythefingerofProvidenceseesitall。Theobjectofhisreproacheswassittinginachair，andhadtheairofamanwhowantsdreadfullytosneeze，butcan’t。Hesometimesturnedsheepishandbefoggedeyesonthespeaker，butobviouslyhadnottheslightestideawhathewastalkingaboutandscarcelyheardit。Acandlewasburningdownonthetable；therewerewine-glasses，anearlyemptybottleofvodka，breadandcucumber，andglasseswiththedregsofstaletea。Aftergazingattentivelyatthis，Svidrigailovturnedawayindifferentlyandsatdownonthebed。
　　Theraggedattendant，returningwiththetea，couldnotresistaskinghimagainwhetherhedidn’twantanythingmore，andagainreceivinganegativereply，finallywithdrew。Svidrigailovmadehastetodrinkaglassofteatowarmhimself，butcouldnoteatanything。Hebegantofeelfeverish。Hetookoffhiscoatand，wrappinghimselfintheblanket，laydownonthebed。Hewasannoyed。“Itwouldhavebeenbettertobewellfortheoccasion，”hethoughtwithasmile。Theroomwasclose，thecandleburntdimly，thewindwasroaringoutside，heheardamousescratchinginthecornerandtheroomsmeltofmiceandofleather。Helayinasortofreverie:onethoughtfollowedanother。Hefeltalongingtofixhisimaginationonsomething。“Itmustbeagardenunderthewindow，”hethought。“There’sasoundoftrees。HowIdislikethesoundoftreesonastormynight，inthedark！Theygiveoneahorridfeeling。”HerememberedhowhehaddislikeditwhenhepassedPetrovskyParkjustnow。ThisremindedhimofthebridgeovertheLittleNevaandhefeltcoldagainashehadwhenstandingthere。“Ineverhavelikedwater，”hethought，“eveninalandscape，”andhesuddenlysmiledagainatastrangeidea:“Surelynowallthesequestionsoftasteandcomfortoughtnottomatter，butI’vebecomemoreparticular，likeananimalthatpicksoutaspecialplace…forsuchanoccasion。IoughttohavegoneintothePetrovskyPark！Isupposeitseemeddark，cold，ha-ha！AsthoughIwereseekingpleasantsensations！…Bytheway，whyhaven’tIputoutthecandle？”heblewitout。“They’vegonetobednextdoor，”hethought，notseeingthelightatthecrack。“Well，now，MarfaPetrovna，nowisthetimeforyoutoturnup；it’sdark，andtheverytimeandplaceforyou。Butnowyouwon’tcome！”
　　Hesuddenlyrecalledhow，anhourbeforecarryingouthisdesignonDounia，hehadrecommendedRaskolnikovtotrusthertoRazumihin’skeeping。“IsupposeIreallydidsayit，asRaskolnikovguessed，toteasemyself。ButwhataroguethatRaskolnikovis！He’sgonethroughagooddeal。Hemaybeasuccessfulrogueintimewhenhe’sgotoverhisnonsense。Butnowhe’stooeagerforlife。Theseyoungmenarecontemptibleonthatpoint。But，hangthefellow！Lethimpleasehimself，it’snothingtodowithme。”
　　Hecouldnotgettosleep。BydegreesDounia’simagerosebeforehim，andashudderranoverhim。“No，Imustgiveupallthatnow，”hethought，rousinghimself。“Imustthinkofsomethingelse。It’squeerandfunny。Ineverhadagreathatredforanyone，Ineverparticularlydesiredtoavengemyselfeven，andthat’sabadsign，abadsign，abadsign。Ineverlikedquarrellingeither，andneverlostmytemper—that’sabadsigntoo。AndthepromisesImadeherjustnow，too—Damnation！But—whoknows？—perhapsshewouldhavemadeanewmanofmesomehow。…”
　　Hegroundhisteethandsankintosilenceagain。AgainDounia’simagerosebeforehim，justasshewaswhen，aftershootingthefirsttime，shehadloweredtherevolverinterrorandgazedblanklyathim，sothathemighthaveseizedhertwiceoverandshewouldnothaveliftedahandtodefendherselfifhehadnotremindedher。Herecalledhowatthatinstanthefeltalmostsorryforher，howhehadfeltapangathisheart…
　　“Aie！Damnation，thesethoughtsagain！Imustputitaway！”
　　Hewasdozingoff；thefeverishshiverhadceased，whensuddenlysomethingseemedtorunoverhisarmandlegunderthebedclothes。Hestarted。“Ugh！hangit！Ibelieveit’samouse，”hethought，“that’sthevealIleftonthetable。”Hefeltfearfullydisinclinedtopullofftheblanket，getup，getcold，butallatoncesomethingunpleasantranoverhislegagain。Hepulledofftheblanketandlightedthecandle。Shakingwithfeverishchillhebentdowntoexaminethebed:therewasnothing。Heshooktheblanketandsuddenlyamousejumpedoutonthesheet。Hetriedtocatchit，butthemouserantoandfroinzigzagswithoutleavingthebed，slippedbetweenhisfingers，ranoverhishandandsuddenlydartedunderthepillow。Hethrewdownthepillow，butinoneinstantfeltsomethingleaponhischestanddartoverhisbodyanddownhisbackunderhisshirt。Hetremblednervouslyandwokeup。
　　Theroomwasdark。Hewaslyingonthebedandwrappedupintheblanketasbefore。Thewindwashowlingunderthewindow。“Howdisgusting，”hethoughtwithannoyance。
　　Hegotupandsatontheedgeofthebedsteadwithhisbacktothewindow。“It’sbetternottosleepatall，”hedecided。Therewasacolddampdraughtfromthewindow，however；withoutgettinguphedrewtheblanketoverhimandwrappedhimselfinit。Hewasnotthinkingofanythinganddidnotwanttothink。Butoneimageroseafteranother，incoherentscrapsofthoughtwithoutbeginningorendpassedthroughhismind。Hesankintodrowsiness。Perhapsthecold，orthedampness，orthedark，orthewindthathowledunderthewindowandtossedthetreesrousedasortofpersistentcravingforthefantastic。Hekeptdwellingonimagesofflowers，hefanciedacharmingflowergarden，abright，warm，almosthotday，aholiday—Trinityday。Afine，sumptuouscountrycottageintheEnglishtasteovergrownwithfragrantflowers，withflowerbedsgoingroundthehouse；theporch，wreathedinclimbers，wassurroundedwithbedsofroses。Alight，coolstaircase，carpetedwithrichrugs，wasdecoratedwithrareplantsinchinapots。Henoticedparticularlyinthewindowsnosegaysoftender，white，heavilyfragrantnarcissusbendingovertheirbright，green，thicklongstalks。Hewasreluctanttomoveawayfromthem，buthewentupthestairsandcameintoalarge，highdrawing-roomandagaineverywhere—atthewindows，thedoorsontothebalcony，andonthebalconyitself—wereflowers。Thefloorswerestrewnwithfreshly-cutfragranthay，thewindowswereopen，afresh，cool，lightaircameintotheroom。Thebirdswerechirrupingunderthewindow，andinthemiddleoftheroom，onatablecoveredwithawhitesatinshroud，stoodacoffin。Thecoffinwascoveredwithwhitesilkandedgedwithathickwhitefrill；wreathsofflowerssurroundeditonallsides。Amongtheflowerslayagirlinawhitemuslindress，withherarmscrossedandpressedonherbosom，asthoughcarvedoutofmarble。Butherloosefairhairwaswet；therewasawreathofrosesonherhead。Thesternandalreadyrigidprofileofherfacelookedasthoughchiselledofmarbletoo，andthesmileonherpalelipswasfullofanimmenseunchildishmiseryandsorrowfulappeal。Svidrigailovknewthatgirl；therewasnoholyimage，noburningcandlebesidethecoffin；nosoundofprayers:thegirlhaddrownedherself。Shewasonlyfourteen，butherheartwasbroken。Andshehaddestroyedherself，crushedbyaninsultthathadappalledandamazedthatchildishsoul，hadsmirchedthatangelpuritywithunmeriteddisgraceandtornfromheralastscreamofdespair，unheededandbrutallydisregarded，onadarknightinthecoldandwetwhilethewindhowled。…
　　Svidrigailovcametohimself，gotupfromthebedandwenttothewindow。Hefeltforthelatchandopenedit。Thewindlashedfuriouslyintothelittleroomandstunghisfaceandhischest，onlycoveredwithhisshirt，asthoughwithfrost。Underthewindowtheremusthavebeensomethinglikeagarden，andapparentlyapleasuregarden。There，too，probablythereweretea-tablesandsinginginthedaytime。Nowdropsofrainflewinatthewindowfromthetreesandbushes；itwasdarkasinacellar，sothathecouldonlyjustmakeoutsomedarkblursofobjects。Svidrigailov，bendingdownwithelbowsonthewindow-sill，gazedforfiveminutesintothedarkness；theboomofacannon，followedbyasecondone，resoundedinthedarknessofthenight。“Ah，thesignal！Theriverisoverflowing，”hethought。“Bymorningitwillbeswirlingdownthestreetinthelowerparts，floodingthebasementsandcellars。Thecellarratswillswimout，andmenwillcurseintherainandwindastheydragtheirrubbishtotheirupperstoreys。Whattimeisitnow？”Andhehadhardlythoughtitwhen，somewherenear，aclockonthewall，tickingawayhurriedly，struckthree。
　　“Aha！Itwillbelightinanhour！Whywait？I’llgooutatoncestraighttothepark。I’llchooseagreatbushtheredrenchedwithrain，sothatassoonasone’sshouldertouchesit，millionsofdropsdriponone’shead。”
　　Hemovedawayfromthewindow，shutit，lightedthecandle，putonhiswaistcoat，hisovercoatandhishatandwentout，carryingthecandle，intothepassagetolookfortheraggedattendantwhowouldbeasleepsomewhereinthemidstofcandle-endsandallsortsofrubbish，topayhimfortheroomandleavethehotel。“It’sthebestminute；Icouldn’tchooseabetter。”
　　Hewalkedforsometimethroughalongnarrowcorridorwithoutfindinganyoneandwasjustgoingtocallout，whensuddenlyinadarkcornerbetweenanoldcupboardandthedoorhecaughtsightofastrangeobjectwhichseemedtobealive。Hebentdownwiththecandleandsawalittlegirl，notmorethanfiveyearsold，shiveringandcrying，withherclothesaswetasasoakinghouse-flannel。ShedidnotseemafraidofSvidrigailov，butlookedathimwithblankamazementoutofherbigblackeyes。Nowandthenshesobbedaschildrendowhentheyhavebeencryingalongtime，butarebeginningtobecomforted。Thechild’sfacewaspaleandtired，shewasnumbwithcold。“Howcanshehavecomehere？Shemusthavehiddenhereandnotsleptallnight。”Hebeganquestioningher。Thechildsuddenlybecominganimated，chatteredawayinherbabylanguage，somethingabout“mammy”andthat“mammywouldbeather，”andaboutsomecupthatshehad“bwoken。”Thechildchatteredonwithoutstopping。Hecouldonlyguessfromwhatshesaidthatshewasaneglectedchild，whosemother，probablyadrunkencook，intheserviceofthehotel，whippedandfrightenedher；thatthechildhadbrokenacupofhermother’sandwassofrightenedthatshehadrunawaytheeveningbefore，hadhiddenforalongwhilesomewhereoutsideintherain，atlasthadmadeherwayinhere，hiddenbehindthecupboardandspentthenightthere，cryingandtremblingfromthedamp，thedarknessandthefearthatshewouldbebadlybeatenforit。Hetookherinhisarms，wentbacktohisroom，satheronthebed，andbeganundressingher。Thetornshoeswhichshehadonherstockinglessfeetwereaswetasiftheyhadbeenstandinginapuddleallnight。Whenhehadundressedher，heputheronthebed，coveredherupandwrappedherintheblanketfromherheaddownwards。Shefellasleepatonce。Thenhesankintodrearymusingagain。
　　“Whatfollytotroublemyself，”hedecidedsuddenlywithanoppressivefeelingofannoyance。“Whatidiocy！”Invexationhetookupthecandletogoandlookfortheraggedattendantagainandmakehastetogoaway。“Damnthechild！”hethoughtasheopenedthedoor，butheturnedagaintoseewhetherthechildwasasleep。Heraisedtheblanketcarefully。Thechildwassleepingsoundly，shehadgotwarmundertheblanket，andherpalecheekswereflushed。Butstrangetosaythatflushseemedbrighterandcoarserthantherosycheeksofchildhood。“It’saflushoffever，”thoughtSvidrigailov。Itwasliketheflushfromdrinking，asthoughshehadbeengivenafullglasstodrink。Hercrimsonlipswerehotandglowing；butwhatwasthis？Hesuddenlyfanciedthatherlongblackeyelasheswerequivering，asthoughthelidswereopeningandaslycraftyeyepeepedoutwithanunchildlikewink，asthoughthelittlegirlwerenotasleep，butpretending。Yes，itwasso。Herlipspartedinasmile。Thecornersofhermouthquivered，asthoughsheweretryingtocontrolthem。Butnowshequitegaveupalleffort，nowitwasagrin，abroadgrin；therewassomethingshameless，provocativeinthatquiteunchildishface；itwasdepravity，itwasthefaceofaharlot，theshamelessfaceofaFrenchharlot。Nowbotheyesopenedwide；theyturnedaglowing，shamelessglanceuponhim；theylaughed，invitedhim。…Therewassomethinginfinitelyhideousandshockinginthatlaugh，inthoseeyes，insuchnastinessinthefaceofachild。“What，atfiveyearsold？”Svidrigailovmutteredingenuinehorror。“Whatdoesitmean？”Andnowsheturnedtohim，herlittlefaceallaglow，holdingoutherarms。…“Accursedchild！”Svidrigailovcried，raisinghishandtostrikeher，butatthatmomenthewokeup。
　　Hewasinthesamebed，stillwrappedintheblanket。Thecandlehadnotbeenlighted，anddaylightwasstreaminginatthewindows。
　　“I’vehadnightmareallnight！”Hegotupangrily，feelingutterlyshattered；hisbonesached。Therewasathickmistoutsideandhecouldseenothing。Itwasnearlyfive。Hehadoverslepthimself！Hegotup，putonhisstilldampjacketandovercoat。Feelingtherevolverinhispocket，hetookitoutandthenhesatdown，tookanotebookoutofhispocketandinthemostconspicuousplaceonthetitlepagewroteafewlinesinlargeletters。Readingthemover，hesankintothoughtwithhiselbowsonthetable。Therevolverandthenotebooklaybesidehim。Someflieswokeupandsettledontheuntouchedveal，whichwasstillonthetable。Hestaredatthemandatlastwithhisfreerighthandbegantryingtocatchone。Hetriedtillhewastired，butcouldnotcatchit。Atlast，realisingthathewasengagedinthisinterestingpursuit，hestarted，gotupandwalkedresolutelyoutoftheroom。Aminutelaterhewasinthestreet。
　　Athickmilkymisthungoverthetown。SvidrigailovwalkedalongtheslipperydirtywoodenpavementtowardstheLittleNeva。HewaspicturingthewatersoftheLittleNevaswolleninthenight，PetrovskyIsland，thewetpaths，thewetgrass，thewettreesandbushesandatlastthebush。…Hebeganill-humouredlystaringatthehouses，tryingtothinkofsomethingelse。Therewasnotacabmanorapasser-byinthestreet。Thebrightyellow，wooden，littlehouseslookeddirtyanddejectedwiththeirclosedshutters。Thecoldanddamppenetratedhiswholebodyandhebegantoshiver。Fromtimetotimehecameacrossshopsignsandreadeachcarefully。Atlasthereachedtheendofthewoodenpavementandcametoabigstonehouse。Adirty，shiveringdogcrossedhispathwithitstailbetweenitslegs。Amaninagreatcoatlayfacedownwards；deaddrunk，acrossthepavement。Helookedathimandwenton。Ahightowerstoodupontheleft。“Bah！”heshouted，“hereisaplace。WhyshoulditbePetrovsky？Itwillbeinthepresenceofanofficialwitnessanyway。…”
　　Healmostsmiledatthisnewthoughtandturnedintothestreetwheretherewasthebighousewiththetower。Atthegreatclosedgatesofthehouse，alittlemanstoodwithhisshoulderleaningagainstthem，wrappedinagreysoldier’scoat，withacopperAchilleshelmetonhishead。HecastadrowsyandindifferentglanceatSvidrigailov。Hisfaceworethatperpetuallookofpeevishdejection，whichissosourlyprintedonallfacesofJewishracewithoutexception。Theyboth，SvidrigailovandAchilles，staredateachotherforafewminuteswithoutspeaking。AtlastitstruckAchillesasirregularforamannotdrunktobestandingthreestepsfromhim，staringandnotsayingaword。
　　“Whatdoyouwanthere？”hesaid，withoutmovingorchanginghisposition。
　　“Nothing，brother，goodmorning，”answeredSvidrigailov。
　　“Thisisn’ttheplace。”
　　“Iamgoingtoforeignparts，brother。”
　　“Toforeignparts？”
　　“ToAmerica。”
　　“America。”
　　Svidrigailovtookouttherevolverandcockedit。Achillesraisedhiseyebrows。
　　“Isay，thisisnottheplaceforsuchjokes！”
　　“Whyshouldn’titbetheplace？”
　　“Becauseitisn’t。”
　　“Well，brother，Idon’tmindthat。It’sagoodplace。Whenyouareasked，youjustsayhewasgoing，hesaid，toAmerica。”
　　Heputtherevolvertohisrighttemple。
　　“Youcan’tdoithere，it’snottheplace，”criedAchilles，rousinghimself，hiseyesgrowingbiggerandbigger。
　　Svidrigailovpulledthetrigger。
　　Thesameday，aboutseveno’clockintheevening，Raskolnikovwasonhiswaytohismother’sandsister’slodging—thelodginginBakaleyev’shousewhichRazumihinhadfoundforthem。Thestairswentupfromthestreet。Raskolnikovwalkedwithlaggingsteps，asthoughstillhesitatingwhethertogoornot。Butnothingwouldhaveturnedhimback:hisdecisionwastaken。
　　“Besides，itdoesn’tmatter，theystillknownothing，”hethought，“andtheyareusedtothinkingofmeaseccentric。”
　　Hewasappallinglydressed:hisclothestornanddirty，soakedwithanight’srain。Hisfacewasalmostdistortedfromfatigue，exposure，theinwardconflictthathadlastedfortwenty-fourhours。Hehadspentallthepreviousnightalone，Godknowswhere。Butanywayhehadreachedadecision。
　　Heknockedatthedoorwhichwasopenedbyhismother。Douniawasnotathome。Eventheservanthappenedtobeout。AtfirstPulcheriaAlexandrovnawasspeechlesswithjoyandsurprise；thenshetookhimbythehandanddrewhimintotheroom。
　　“Hereyouare！”shebegan，falteringwithjoy。“Don’tbeangrywithme，Rodya，forwelcomingyousofoolishlywithtears:Iamlaughingnotcrying。DidyouthinkIwascrying？No，Iamdelighted，butI’vegotintosuchastupidhabitofsheddingtears。I’vebeenlikethateversinceyourfather’sdeath。Icryforanything。Sitdown，dearboy，youmustbetired；Iseeyouare。Ah，howmuddyyouare。”
　　“Iwasintherainyesterday，mother。…”Raskolnikovbegan。
　　“No，no，”PulcheriaAlexandrovnahurriedlyinterrupted，“youthoughtIwasgoingtocross-questionyouinthewomanishwayIusedto；don’tbeanxious，Iunderstand，Iunderstanditall:nowI’velearnedthewayshereandtrulyIseeformyselfthattheyarebetter。I’vemadeupmymindonceforall:howcouldIunderstandyourplansandexpectyoutogiveanaccountofthem？Godknowswhatconcernsandplansyoumayhave，orwhatideasyouarehatching；soit’snotformetokeepnudgingyourelbow，askingyouwhatyouarethinkingabout？But，mygoodness！whyamIrunningtoandfroasthoughIwerecrazy…？Iamreadingyourarticleinthemagazineforthethirdtime，Rodya。DmitriProkofitchbroughtittome。DirectlyIsawitIcriedouttomyself:‘There，foolishone，’Ithought，‘that’swhatheisbusyabout；that’sthesolutionofthemystery！Learnedpeoplearealwayslikethat。Hemayhavesomenewideasinhisheadjustnow；heisthinkingthemoverandIworryhimandupsethim。’Ireadit，mydear，andofcoursetherewasagreatdealIdidnotunderstand；butthat’sonlynatural—howshouldI？”
　　“Showme，mother。”
　　Raskolnikovtookthemagazineandglancedathisarticle。Incongruousasitwaswithhismoodandhiscircumstances，hefeltthatstrangeandbittersweetsensationthateveryauthorexperiencesthefirsttimeheseeshimselfinprint；besides，hewasonlytwenty-three。Itlastedonlyamoment。Afterreadingafewlineshefrownedandhisheartthrobbedwithanguish。Herecalledalltheinwardconflictoftheprecedingmonths。Heflungthearticleonthetablewithdisgustandanger。
　　“But，howeverfoolishImaybe，Rodya，Icanseeformyselfthatyouwillverysoonbeoneoftheleading—ifnottheleadingman—intheworldofRussianthought。Andtheydaredtothinkyouweremad！Youdon’tknow，buttheyreallythoughtthat。Ah，thedespicablecreatures，howcouldtheyunderstandgenius！AndDounia，Douniawasallbutbelievingit—whatdoyousaytothat？Yourfathersenttwicetomagazines—thefirsttimepoemsI’vegotthemanuscriptandwillshowyouandthesecondtimeawholenovelIbeggedhimtoletmecopyitoutandhowweprayedthattheyshouldbetaken—theyweren’t！Iwasbreakingmyheart，Rodya，sixorsevendaysagooveryourfoodandyourclothesandthewayyouareliving。ButnowIseeagainhowfoolishIwas，foryoucanattainanypositionyoulikebyyourintellectandtalent。Nodoubtyoudon’tcareaboutthatforthepresentandyouareoccupiedwithmuchmoreimportantmatters。…”
　　“Dounia’snotathome，mother？”
　　“No，Rodya。Ioftendon’tseeher；sheleavesmealone。DmitriProkofitchcomestoseeme，it’ssogoodofhim，andhealwaystalksaboutyou。Helovesyouandrespectsyou，mydear。Idon’tsaythatDouniaisverywantinginconsideration。Iamnotcomplaining。ShehasherwaysandIhavemine；sheseemstohavegotsomesecretsoflateandIneverhaveanysecretsfromyoutwo。Ofcourse，IamsurethatDouniahasfartoomuchsense，andbesidesshelovesyouandme…butIdon’tknowwhatitwillallleadto。You’vemademesohappybycomingnow，Rodya，butshehasmissedyoubygoingout；whenshecomesinI’lltellher:‘Yourbrothercameinwhileyouwereout。Wherehaveyoubeenallthistime？’Youmustn’tspoilme，Rodya，youknow；comewhenyoucan，butifyoucan’t，itdoesn’tmatter，Icanwait。Ishallknow，anyway，thatyouarefondofme，thatwillbeenoughforme。Ishallreadwhatyouwrite，Ishallhearaboutyoufromeveryone，andsometimesyou’llcomeyourselftoseeme。Whatcouldbebetter？Hereyou’vecomenowtocomfortyourmother，Iseethat。”
　　HerePulcheriaAlexandrovnabegantocry。
　　“HereIamagain！Don’tmindmyfoolishness。Mygoodness，whyamIsittinghere？”shecried，jumpingup。“ThereiscoffeeandIdon’tofferyouany。Ah，that’stheselfishnessofoldage。I’llgetitatonce！”
　　“Mother，don’ttrouble，Iamgoingatonce。Ihaven’tcomeforthat。Pleaselistentome。”
　　PulcheriaAlexandrovnawentuptohimtimidly。
　　“Mother，whateverhappens，whateveryouhearaboutme，whateveryouaretoldaboutme，willyoualwayslovemeasyoudonow？”heaskedsuddenlyfromthefullnessofhisheart，asthoughnotthinkingofhiswordsandnotweighingthem。
　　“Rodya，Rodya，whatisthematter？Howcanyouaskmesuchaquestion？Why，whowilltellmeanythingaboutyou？Besides，Ishouldn’tbelieveanyone，Ishouldrefusetolisten。”
　　“I’vecometoassureyouthatI’vealwayslovedyouandIamgladthatwearealone，evengladDouniaisout，”hewentonwiththesameimpulse。“Ihavecometotellyouthatthoughyouwillbeunhappy，youmustbelievethatyoursonlovesyounowmorethanhimself，andthatallyouthoughtaboutme，thatIwascruelanddidn’tcareaboutyou，wasallamistake。Ishallneverceasetoloveyou。…Well，that’senough:IthoughtImustdothisandbeginwiththis。…”
　　PulcheriaAlexandrovnaembracedhiminsilence，pressinghimtoherbosomandweepinggently。
　　“Idon’tknowwhatiswrongwithyou，Rodya，”shesaidatlast。“I’vebeenthinkingallthistimethatweweresimplyboringyouandnowIseethatthereisagreatsorrowinstoreforyou，andthat’swhyyouaremiserable。I’veforeseenitalongtime，Rodya。Forgivemeforspeakingaboutit。Ikeepthinkingaboutitandlieawakeatnights。Yoursisterlaytalkinginhersleepalllastnight，talkingofnothingbutyou。Icaughtsomething，butIcouldn’tmakeitout。IfeltallthemorningasthoughIweregoingtobehanged，waitingforsomething，expectingsomething，andnowithascome！Rodya，Rodya，whereareyougoing？Youaregoingawaysomewhere？”
　　“Yes。”
　　“That’swhatIthought！Icancomewithyou，youknow，ifyouneedme。AndDounia，too；shelovesyou，shelovesyoudearly—andSofyaSemyonovnamaycomewithusifyoulike。Yousee，Iamgladtolookuponherasadaughtereven…DmitriProkofitchwillhelpustogotogether。But…where…areyougoing？”
　　“Good-bye，mother。”
　　“What，to-day？”shecried，asthoughlosinghimforever。
　　“Ican’tstay，Imustgonow。…”
　　“Andcan’tIcomewithyou？”
　　“No，butkneeldownandpraytoGodforme。YourprayerperhapswillreachHim。”
　　“Letmeblessyouandsignyouwiththecross。That’sright，that’sright。Oh，God，whatarewedoing？”
　　Yes，hewasglad，hewasverygladthattherewasnoonethere，thathewasalonewithhismother。Forthefirsttimeafterallthoseawfulmonthshisheartwassoftened。Hefelldownbeforeher，hekissedherfeetandbothwept，embracing。Andshewasnotsurprisedanddidnotquestionhimthistime。Forsomedaysshehadrealisedthatsomethingawfulwashappeningtohersonandthatnowsometerribleminutehadcomeforhim。
　　“Rodya，mydarling，myfirstborn，”shesaidsobbing，“nowyouarejustaswhenyouwerelittle。Youwouldrunlikethistomeandhugmeandkissme。Whenyourfatherwaslivingandwewerepoor，youcomfortedussimplybybeingwithusandwhenIburiedyourfather，howoftenwewepttogetherathisgraveandembraced，asnow。AndifI’vebeencryinglately，it’sthatmymother’shearthadaforebodingoftrouble。ThefirsttimeIsawyou，thatevening，youremember，assoonaswearrivedhere，Iguessedsimplyfromyoureyes。Myheartsankatonce，andto-daywhenIopenedthedoorandlookedatyou，Ithoughtthefatalhourhadcome。Rodya，Rodya，youarenotgoingawayto-day？”
　　“No！”
　　“You’llcomeagain？”
　　“Yes…I’llcome。”
　　“Rodya，don’tbeangry，Idon’tdaretoquestionyou。IknowImustn’t。Onlysaytwowordstome—isitfarwhereyouaregoing？”
　　“Veryfar。”
　　“Whatisawaitingyouthere？Somepostorcareerforyou？”
　　“WhatGodsends…onlyprayforme。”Raskolnikovwenttothedoor，butsheclutchedhimandgazeddespairinglyintohiseyes。Herfaceworkedwithterror。
　　“Enough，mother，”saidRaskolnikov，deeplyregrettingthathehadcome。
　　“Notforever，it’snotyetforever？You’llcome，you’llcometo-morrow？”
　　“Iwill，Iwill，good-bye。”Hetorehimselfawayatlast。
　　Itwasawarm，fresh，brightevening；ithadclearedupinthemorning。Raskolnikovwenttohislodgings；hemadehaste。Hewantedtofinishallbeforesunset。Hedidnotwanttomeetanyonetillthen。GoingupthestairshenoticedthatNastasyarushedfromthesamovartowatchhimintently。“Cananyonehavecometoseeme？”hewondered。HehadadisgustedvisionofPorfiry。ButopeninghisdoorhesawDounia。Shewassittingalone，plungedindeepthought，andlookedasthoughshehadbeenwaitingalongtime。Hestoppedshortinthedoorway。Sherosefromthesofaindismayandstoodupfacinghim。Hereyes，fixeduponhim，betrayedhorrorandinfinitegrief。Andfromthoseeyesalonehesawatoncethatsheknew。
　　“AmItocomeinorgoaway？”heaskeduncertainly。
　　“I’vebeenalldaywithSofyaSemyonovna。Wewerebothwaitingforyou。Wethoughtthatyouwouldbesuretocomethere。”
　　Raskolnikovwentintotheroomandsankexhaustedonachair。
　　“Ifeelweak，Dounia，Iamverytired；andIshouldhavelikedatthismomenttobeabletocontrolmyself。”
　　Heglancedathermistrustfully。
　　“Wherewereyouallnight？”
　　“Idon’trememberclearly。Yousee，sister，Iwantedtomakeupmymindonceforall，andseveraltimesIwalkedbytheNeva，IrememberthatIwantedtoenditallthere，but…Icouldn’tmakeupmymind，”hewhispered，lookingathermistrustfullyagain。
　　“ThankGod！Thatwasjustwhatwewereafraidof，SofyaSemyonovnaandI。Thenyoustillhavefaithinlife？ThankGod，thankGod！”
　　Raskolnikovsmiledbitterly。
　　“Ihaven’tfaith，butIhavejustbeenweepinginmother’sarms；Ihaven’tfaith，butIhavejustaskedhertoprayforme。Idon’tknowhowitis，Dounia，Idon’tunderstandit。”
　　“Haveyoubeenatmother’s？Haveyoutoldher？”criedDounia，horror-stricken。“Surelyyouhaven’tdonethat？”
　　“No，Ididn’ttellher…inwords；butsheunderstoodagreatdeal。Sheheardyoutalkinginyoursleep。Iamsureshehalfunderstandsitalready。PerhapsIdidwrongingoingtoseeher。Idon’tknowwhyIdidgo。Iamacontemptibleperson，Dounia。”
　　“Acontemptibleperson，butreadytofacesuffering！Youare，aren’tyou？”
　　“Yes，Iamgoing。Atonce。Yes，toescapethedisgraceIthoughtofdrowningmyself，Dounia，butasIlookedintothewater，IthoughtthatifIhadconsideredmyselfstrongtillnowI’dbetternotbeafraidofdisgrace，”hesaid，hurryingon。“It’spride，Dounia。”
　　“Pride，Rodya。”
　　Therewasagleamoffireinhislustrelesseyes；heseemedtobegladtothinkthathewasstillproud。
　　“Youdon’tthink，sister，thatIwassimplyafraidofthewater？”heasked，lookingintoherfacewithasinistersmile。
　　“Oh，Rodya，hush！”criedDouniabitterly。Silencelastedfortwominutes。Hesatwithhiseyesfixedonthefloor；Douniastoodattheotherendofthetableandlookedathimwithanguish。Suddenlyhegotup。
　　“It’slate，it’stimetogo！Iamgoingatoncetogivemyselfup。ButIdon’tknowwhyIamgoingtogivemyselfup。”
　　Bigtearsfelldownhercheeks。
　　“Youarecrying，sister，butcanyouholdoutyourhandtome？”
　　“Youdoubtedit？”
　　Shethrewherarmsroundhim。
　　“Aren’tyouhalfexpiatingyourcrimebyfacingthesuffering？”shecried，holdinghimcloseandkissinghim。
　　“Crime？Whatcrime？”hecriedinsuddenfury。“ThatIkilledavilenoxiousinsect，anoldpawnbrokerwoman，ofusetonoone！…Killingherwasatonementforfortysins。Shewassuckingthelifeoutofpoorpeople。Wasthatacrime？IamnotthinkingofitandIamnotthinkingofexpiatingit，andwhyareyouallrubbingitinonallsides？‘Acrime！acrime！’OnlynowIseeclearlytheimbecilityofmycowardice，nowthatIhavedecidedtofacethissuperfluousdisgrace。It’ssimplybecauseIamcontemptibleandhavenothinginmethatIhavedecidedto，perhapstooformyadvantage，asthat…Porfiry…suggested！”
　　“Brother，brother，whatareyousaying？Why，youhaveshedblood？”criedDouniaindespair。
　　“Whichallmenshed，”heputinalmostfrantically，“whichflowsandhasalwaysflowedinstreams，whichisspiltlikechampagne，andforwhichmenarecrownedintheCapitolandarecalledafterwardsbenefactorsofmankind。Lookintoitmorecarefullyandunderstandit！Itoowantedtodogoodtomenandwouldhavedonehundreds，thousandsofgooddeedstomakeupforthatonepieceofstupidity，notstupidityeven，simplyclumsiness，fortheideawasbynomeanssostupidasitseemsnowthatithasfailed。…Everythingseemsstupidwhenitfails。BythatstupidityIonlywantedtoputmyselfintoanindependentposition，totakethefirststep，toobtainmeans，andtheneverythingwouldhavebeensmoothedoverbybenefitsimmeasurableincomparison。…ButI…Icouldn’tcarryouteventhefirststep，becauseIamcontemptible，that’swhat’sthematter！AndyetIwon’tlookatitasyoudo。IfIhadsucceededIshouldhavebeencrownedwithglory，butnowI’mtrapped。”
　　“Butthat’snotso，notso！Brother，whatareyousaying？”
　　“Ah，it’snotpicturesque，notaestheticallyattractive！Ifailtounderstandwhybombardingpeoplebyregularsiegeismorehonourable。Thefearofappearancesisthefirstsymptomofimpotence。I’venever，neverrecognisedthismoreclearlythannow，andIamfurtherthaneverfromseeingthatwhatIdidwasacrime。I’venever，neverbeenstrongerandmoreconvincedthannow。”
　　Thecolourhadrushedintohispaleexhaustedface，butasheutteredhislastexplanation，hehappenedtomeetDounia’seyesandhesawsuchanguishinthemthathecouldnothelpbeingchecked。Hefeltthathehad，anyway，madethesetwopoorwomenmiserable，thathewas，anyway，thecause…
　　“Douniadarling，ifIamguiltyforgivemethoughIcannotbeforgivenifIamguilty。Good-bye！Wewon’tdispute。It’stime，hightimetogo。Don’tfollowme，Ibeseechyou，Ihavesomewhereelsetogo。…Butyougoatonceandsitwithmother。Ientreatyouto！It’smylastrequestofyou。Don’tleaveheratall；Ileftherinastateofanxiety，thatsheisnotfittobear；shewilldieorgooutofhermind。Bewithher！Razumihinwillbewithyou。I’vebeentalkingtohim。…Don’tcryaboutme:I’lltrytobehonestandmanlyallmylife，evenifIamamurderer。PerhapsIshallsomedaymakeaname。Iwon’tdisgraceyou，youwillsee；I’llstillshow。…Nowgood-byeforthepresent，”heconcludedhurriedly，noticingagainastrangeexpressioninDounia’seyesathislastwordsandpromises。“Whyareyoucrying？Don’tcry，don’tcry:wearenotpartingforever！Ah，yes！Waitaminute，I’dforgotten！”
　　Hewenttothetable，tookupathickdustybook，openeditandtookfrombetweenthepagesalittlewater-colourportraitonivory。Itwastheportraitofhislandlady’sdaughter，whohaddiedoffever，thatstrangegirlwhohadwantedtobeanun。Foraminutehegazedatthedelicateexpressivefaceofhisbetrothed，kissedtheportraitandgaveittoDounia。
　　“Iusedtotalkagreatdealaboutittoher，onlytoher，”hesaidthoughtfully。“ToherheartIconfidedmuchofwhathassincebeensohideouslyrealised。Don’tbeuneasy，”hereturnedtoDounia，“shewasasmuchopposedtoitasyou，andIamgladthatsheisgone。Thegreatpointisthateverythingnowisgoingtobedifferent，isgoingtobebrokenintwo，”hecried，suddenlyreturningtohisdejection。“Everything，everything，andamIpreparedforit？DoIwantitmyself？Theysayitisnecessaryformetosuffer！What’stheobjectofthesesenselesssufferings？shallIknowanybetterwhattheyarefor，whenIamcrushedbyhardshipsandidiocy，andweakasanoldmanaftertwentyyears’penalservitude？AndwhatshallIhavetoliveforthen？WhyamIconsentingtothatlifenow？Oh，IknewIwascontemptiblewhenIstoodlookingattheNevaatdaybreakto-day！”
　　Atlasttheybothwentout。ItwashardforDounia，butshelovedhim。Shewalkedaway，butaftergoingfiftypacessheturnedroundtolookathimagain。Hewasstillinsight。Atthecornerhetooturnedandforthelasttimetheireyesmet；butnoticingthatshewaslookingathim，hemotionedherawaywithimpatienceandevenvexation，andturnedthecornerabruptly。
　　“Iamwicked，Iseethat，”hethoughttohimself，feelingashamedamomentlaterofhisangrygesturetoDounia。“ButwhyaretheysofondofmeifIdon’tdeserveit？Oh，ifonlyIwerealoneandnoonelovedmeandItoohadneverlovedanyone！Nothingofallthiswouldhavehappened。ButIwondershallIinthosefifteenortwentyyearsgrowsomeekthatIshallhumblemyselfbeforepeopleandwhimperateverywordthatIamacriminal？Yes，that’sit，that’sit，that’swhattheyaresendingmetherefor，that’swhattheywant。Lookatthemrunningtoandfroaboutthestreets，everyoneofthemascoundrelandacriminalatheartand，worsestill，anidiot。Buttrytogetmeoffandthey’dbewildwithrighteousindignation。Oh，howIhatethemall！”
　　Hefelltomusingbywhatprocessitcouldcometopass，thathecouldbehumbledbeforeallofthem，indiscriminately—humbledbyconviction。Andyetwhynot？Itmustbeso。Wouldnottwentyyearsofcontinualbondagecrushhimutterly？Waterwearsoutastone。Andwhy，whyshouldheliveafterthat？Whyshouldhegonowwhenheknewthatitwouldbeso？Itwasthehundredthtimeperhapsthathehadaskedhimselfthatquestionsincethepreviousevening，butstillhewent。
　　WhenhewentintoSonia’sroom，itwasalreadygettingdark。AlldaySoniahadbeenwaitingforhiminterribleanxiety。Douniahadbeenwaitingwithher。Shehadcometoherthatmorning，rememberingSvidrigailov’swordsthatSoniaknew。Wewillnotdescribetheconversationandtearsofthetwogirls，andhowfriendlytheybecame。Douniagainedonecomfortatleastfromthatinterview，thatherbrotherwouldnotbealone。Hehadgonetoher，Sonia，firstwithhisconfession；hehadgonetoherforhumanfellowshipwhenheneededit；shewouldgowithhimwhereverfatemightsendhim。Douniadidnotask，butsheknewitwasso。ShelookedatSoniaalmostwithreverenceandatfirstalmostembarrassedherbyit。Soniawasalmostonthepointoftears。Shefeltherself，onthecontrary，hardlyworthytolookatDounia。Dounia’sgraciousimagewhenshehadbowedtohersoattentivelyandrespectfullyattheirfirstmeetinginRaskolnikov’sroomhadremainedinhermindasoneofthefairestvisionsofherlife。
　　Douniaatlastbecameimpatientand，leavingSonia，wenttoherbrother’sroomtoawaithimthere；shekeptthinkingthathewouldcometherefirst。Whenshehadgone，Soniabegantobetorturedbythedreadofhiscommittingsuicide，andDouniatoofearedit。Buttheyhadspentthedaytryingtopersuadeeachotherthatthatcouldnotbe，andbothwerelessanxiouswhiletheyweretogether。Assoonastheyparted，eachthoughtofnothingelse。SoniarememberedhowSvidrigailovhadsaidtoherthedaybeforethatRaskolnikovhadtwoalternatives—Siberiaor…Besidessheknewhisvanity，hisprideandhislackoffaith。
　　“Isitpossiblethathehasnothingbutcowardiceandfearofdeathtomakehimlive？”shethoughtatlastindespair。
　　Meanwhilethesunwassetting。Soniawasstandingindejection，lookingintentlyoutofthewindow，butfromitshecouldseenothingbuttheunwhitewashedblankwallofthenexthouse。Atlastwhenshebegantofeelsureofhisdeath—hewalkedintotheroom。
　　Shegaveacryofjoy，butlookingcarefullyintohisfacesheturnedpale。
　　“Yes，”saidRaskolnikov，smiling。“Ihavecomeforyourcross，Sonia。Itwasyoutoldmetogotothecross-roads；whyisityouarefrightenednowit’scometothat？”
　　Soniagazedathimastonished。Histoneseemedstrangetoher；acoldshiverranoverher，butinamomentsheguessedthatthetoneandthewordswereamask。Hespoketoherlookingaway，asthoughtoavoidmeetinghereyes。
　　“Yousee，Sonia，I’vedecidedthatitwillbebetterso。Thereisonefact。…Butit’salongstoryandthere’snoneedtodiscussit。Butdoyouknowwhatangersme？Itannoysmethatallthosestupidbrutishfaceswillbegapingatmedirectly，pesteringmewiththeirstupidquestions，whichIshallhavetoanswer—they’llpointtheirfingersatme。…Tfoo！YouknowIamnotgoingtoPorfiry，Iamsickofhim。I’drathergotomyfriend，theExplosiveLieutenant；howIshallsurprisehim，whatasensationIshallmake！ButImustbecooler；I’vebecometooirritableoflate。YouknowIwasnearlyshakingmyfistatmysisterjustnow，becausesheturnedtotakealastlookatme。It’sabrutalstatetobein！Ah！whatamIcomingto！Well，wherearethecrosses？”
　　Heseemedhardlytoknowwhathewasdoing。Hecouldnotstaystillorconcentratehisattentiononanything；hisideasseemedtogallopafteroneanother，hetalkedincoherently，hishandstrembledslightly。
　　WithoutawordSoniatookoutofthedrawertwocrosses，oneofcypresswoodandoneofcopper。Shemadethesignofthecrossoverherselfandoverhim，andputthewoodencrossonhisneck。
　　“It’sthesymbolofmytakingupthecross，”helaughed。“AsthoughIhadnotsufferedmuchtillnow！Thewoodencross，thatisthepeasantone；thecopperone，thatisLizaveta’s—youwillwearyourself，showme！Soshehaditon…atthatmoment？Iremembertwothingslikethesetoo，asilveroneandalittleikon。Ithrewthembackontheoldwoman’sneck。Thosewouldbeappropriatenow，really，thosearewhatIoughttoputonnow。…ButIamtalkingnonsenseandforgettingwhatmatters；I’msomehowforgetful。…YouseeIhavecometowarnyou，Sonia，sothatyoumightknow…that’sall—that’sallIcamefor。ButIthoughtIhadmoretosay。Youwantedmetogoyourself。Well，nowIamgoingtoprisonandyou’llhaveyourwish。Well，whatareyoucryingfor？Youtoo？Don’t。Leaveoff！Oh，howIhateitall！”
　　Buthisfeelingwasstirred；hisheartached，ashelookedather。“Whyisshegrievingtoo？”hethoughttohimself。“WhatamItoher？Whydoessheweep？Whyisshelookingafterme，likemymotherorDounia？She’llbemynurse。”
　　“Crossyourself，sayatleastoneprayer，”Soniabeggedinatimidbrokenvoice。
　　“Ohcertainly，asmuchasyoulike！Andsincerely，Sonia，sincerely。…”
　　Buthewantedtosaysomethingquitedifferent。
　　Hecrossedhimselfseveraltimes。Soniatookuphershawlandputitoverherhead。ItwasthegreendrapdedamesshawlofwhichMarmeladovhadspoken，“thefamilyshawl。”Raskolnikovthoughtofthatlookingatit，buthedidnotask。Hebegantofeelhimselfthathewascertainlyforgettingthingsandwasdisgustinglyagitated。Hewasfrightenedatthis。HewassuddenlystrucktoobythethoughtthatSoniameanttogowithhim。
　　“Whatareyoudoing？Whereareyougoing？Stayhere，stay！I’llgoalone，”hecriedincowardlyvexation，andalmostresentful，hemovedtowardsthedoor。“What’stheuseofgoinginprocession？”hemutteredgoingout。
　　Soniaremainedstandinginthemiddleoftheroom。Hehadnotevensaidgood-byetoher；hehadforgottenher。Apoignantandrebelliousdoubtsurgedinhisheart。
　　“Wasitright，wasitright，allthis？”hethoughtagainashewentdownthestairs。“Couldn’thestopandretractitall…andnotgo？”
　　Butstillhewent。Hefeltsuddenlyonceforallthathemustn’taskhimselfquestions。Asheturnedintothestreetherememberedthathehadnotsaidgood-byetoSonia，thathehadleftherinthemiddleoftheroominhergreenshawl，notdaringtostirafterhehadshoutedather，andhestoppedshortforamoment。Atthesameinstant，anotherthoughtdawneduponhim，asthoughithadbeenlyinginwaittostrikehimthen。
　　“Why，withwhatobjectdidIgotoherjustnow？Itoldher—onbusiness；onwhatbusiness？Ihadnosortofbusiness！TotellherIwasgoing；butwherewastheneed？DoIloveher？No，no，Idroveherawayjustnowlikeadog。DidIwanthercrosses？Oh，howlowI’vesunk！No，Iwantedhertears，Iwantedtoseeherterror，toseehowherheartached！Ihadtohavesomethingtoclingto，somethingtodelayme，somefriendlyfacetosee！AndIdaredtobelieveinmyself，todreamofwhatIwoulddo！Iamabeggarlycontemptiblewretch，contemptible！”
　　Hewalkedalongthecanalbank，andhehadnotmuchfurthertogo。ButonreachingthebridgehestoppedandturningoutofhiswayalongitwenttotheHayMarket。
　　Helookedeagerlytorightandleft，gazedintentlyateveryobjectandcouldnotfixhisattentiononanything；everythingslippedaway。“Inanotherweek，anothermonthIshallbedriveninaprisonvanoverthisbridge，howshallIlookatthecanalthen？Ishouldliketorememberthis！”slippedintohismind。“Lookatthissign！HowshallIreadthoselettersthen？It’swrittenhere‘Campany，’that’sathingtoremember，thatlettera，andtolookatitagaininamonth—howshallIlookatitthen？WhatshallIbefeelingandthinkingthen？…Howtrivialitallmustbe，whatIamfrettingaboutnow！Ofcourseitmustallbeinteresting…initsway…Ha-ha-ha！WhatamIthinkingabout？Iambecomingababy，Iamshowingofftomyself；whyamIashamed？Foo！howpeopleshove！thatfatman—aGermanhemustbe—whopushedagainstme，doesheknowwhomhepushed？There’sapeasantwomanwithababy，begging。It’scuriousthatshethinksmehappierthansheis。Imightgivehersomething，fortheincongruityofit。Here’safivecopeckpieceleftinmypocket，wheredidIgetit？Here，here…takeit，mygoodwoman！”
　　“Godblessyou，”thebeggarchantedinalachrymosevoice。
　　HewentintotheHayMarket。Itwasdistasteful，verydistastefultobeinacrowd，buthewalkedjustwherehesawmostpeople。Hewouldhavegivenanythingintheworldtobealone；butheknewhimselfthathewouldnothaveremainedaloneforamoment。Therewasamandrunkanddisorderlyinthecrowd；hekepttryingtodanceandfallingdown。Therewasaringroundhim。Raskolnikovsqueezedhiswaythroughthecrowd，staredforsomeminutesatthedrunkenmanandsuddenlygaveashortjerkylaugh。Aminutelaterhehadforgottenhimanddidnotseehim，thoughhestillstared。Hemovedawayatlast，notrememberingwherehewas；butwhenhegotintothemiddleofthesquareanemotionsuddenlycameoverhim，overwhelminghimbodyandmind。
　　HesuddenlyrecalledSonia’swords，“Gotothecross-roads，bowdowntothepeople，kisstheearth，foryouhavesinnedagainstittoo，andsayaloudtothewholeworld，‘Iamamurderer。’”Hetrembled，rememberingthat。Andthehopelessmiseryandanxietyofallthattime，especiallyofthelasthours，hadweighedsoheavilyuponhimthathepositivelyclutchedatthechanceofthisnewunmixed，completesensation。Itcameoverhimlikeafit；itwaslikeasinglesparkkindledinhissoulandspreadingfirethroughhim。Everythinginhimsoftenedatonceandthetearsstartedintohiseyes。Hefelltotheearthonthespot。…
　　Hekneltdowninthemiddleofthesquare，boweddowntotheearth，andkissedthatfilthyearthwithblissandrapture。Hegotupandboweddownasecondtime。
　　“He’sboozed，”ayouthnearhimobserved。
　　Therewasaroaroflaughter。
　　“He’sgoingtoJerusalem，brothers，andsayinggood-byetohischildrenandhiscountry。He’sbowingdowntoalltheworldandkissingthegreatcityofSt。Petersburganditspavement，”addedaworkmanwhowasalittledrunk。
　　“Quiteayoungman，too！”observedathird。
　　“Andagentleman，”someoneobservedsoberly。
　　“There’snoknowingwho’sagentlemanandwhoisn’tnowadays。”
　　TheseexclamationsandremarkscheckedRaskolnikov，andthewords，“Iamamurderer，”whichwereperhapsonthepointofdroppingfromhislips，diedaway。Heboretheseremarksquietly，however，and，withoutlookinground，heturneddownastreetleadingtothepoliceoffice。Hehadaglimpseofsomethingonthewaywhichdidnotsurprisehim；hehadfeltthatitmustbeso。ThesecondtimeheboweddownintheHayMarkethesaw，standingfiftypacesfromhimontheleft，Sonia。Shewashidingfromhimbehindoneofthewoodenshantiesinthemarket-place。Shehadfollowedhimthenonhispainfulway！RaskolnikovatthatmomentfeltandknewonceforallthatSoniawaswithhimforeverandwouldfollowhimtotheendsoftheearth，whereverfatemighttakehim。Itwrunghisheart…buthewasjustreachingthefatalplace。
　　Hewentintotheyardfairlyresolutely。Hehadtomounttothethirdstorey。“Ishallbesometimegoingup，”hethought。Hefeltasthoughthefatefulmomentwasstillfaroff，asthoughhehadplentyoftimeleftforconsideration。
　　Againthesamerubbish，thesameeggshellslyingaboutonthespiralstairs，againtheopendoorsoftheflats，againthesamekitchensandthesamefumesandstenchcomingfromthem。Raskolnikovhadnotbeenheresincethatday。Hislegswerenumbandgavewayunderhim，butstilltheymovedforward。Hestoppedforamomenttotakebreath，tocollecthimself，soastoenterlikeaman。“Butwhy？whatfor？”hewondered，reflecting。“IfImustdrinkthecupwhatdifferencedoesitmake？Themorerevoltingthebetter。”Heimaginedforaninstantthefigureofthe“explosivelieutenant，”IlyaPetrovitch。Washeactuallygoingtohim？Couldn’thegotosomeoneelse？ToNikodimFomitch？Couldn’theturnbackandgostraighttoNikodimFomitch’slodgings？Atleastthenitwouldbedoneprivately。…No，no！Tothe“explosivelieutenant”！Ifhemustdrinkit，drinkitoffatonce。
　　Turningcoldandhardlyconscious，heopenedthedooroftheoffice。Therewereveryfewpeopleinitthistime—onlyahouseporterandapeasant。Thedoorkeeperdidnotevenpeepoutfrombehindhisscreen。Raskolnikovwalkedintothenextroom。“PerhapsIstillneednotspeak，”passedthroughhismind。Somesortofclerknotwearingauniformwassettlinghimselfatabureautowrite。Inacorneranotherclerkwasseatinghimself。Zametovwasnotthere，nor，ofcourse，NikodimFomitch。
　　“Noonein？”Raskolnikovasked，addressingthepersonatthebureau。
　　“Whomdoyouwant？”
　　“A-ah！Notasoundwasheard，notasightwasseen，butIscenttheRussian…howdoesitgooninthefairytale…I’veforgotten！‘Atyourservice！’”afamiliarvoicecriedsuddenly。
　　Raskolnikovshuddered。TheExplosiveLieutenantstoodbeforehim。Hehadjustcomeinfromthethirdroom。“Itisthehandoffate，”thoughtRaskolnikov。“Whyishehere？”
　　“You’vecometoseeus？Whatabout？”criedIlyaPetrovitch。Hewasobviouslyinanexceedinglygoodhumourandperhapsatrifleexhilarated。“Ifit’sonbusinessyouareratherearly。1It’sonlyachancethatIamhere…howeverI’lldowhatIcan。Imustadmit，I…whatisit，whatisit？Excuseme。…”
　　“Raskolnikov。”
　　“Ofcourse，Raskolnikov。Youdidn’timagineI’dforgotten？Don’tthinkIamlikethat…RodionRo—Ro—Rodionovitch，that’sit，isn’tit？”
　　“RodionRomanovitch。”
　　“Yes，yes，ofcourse，RodionRomanovitch！Iwasjustgettingatit。Imademanyinquiriesaboutyou。IassureyouI’vebeengenuinelygrievedsincethat…sinceIbehavedlikethat…itwasexplainedtomeafterwardsthatyouwerealiteraryman…andalearnedonetoo…andsotosaythefirststeps…Mercyonus！Whatliteraryorscientificmandoesnotbeginbysomeoriginalityofconduct！MywifeandIhavethegreatestrespectforliterature，inmywifeit’sagenuinepassion！Literatureandart！Ifonlyamanisagentleman，alltherestcanbegainedbytalents，learning，goodsense，genius。Asforahat—well，whatdoesahatmatter？IcanbuyahataseasilyasIcanabun；butwhat’sunderthehat，whatthehatcovers，Ican’tbuythat！Iwasevenmeaningtocomeandapologisetoyou，butthoughtmaybeyou’d…ButIamforgettingtoaskyou，isthereanythingyouwantreally？Ihearyourfamilyhavecome？”
　　“Yes，mymotherandsister。”
　　“I’veevenhadthehonourandhappinessofmeetingyoursister—ahighlycultivatedandcharmingperson。IconfessIwassorryIgotsohotwithyou。Thereitis！Butasformylookingsuspiciouslyatyourfaintingfit—thataffairhasbeenclearedupsplendidly！Bigotryandfanaticism！Iunderstandyourindignation。Perhapsyouarechangingyourlodgingonaccountofyourfamily’sarriving？”
　　“No，Ionlylookedin…Icametoask…IthoughtthatIshouldfindZametovhere。”
　　“Oh，yes！Ofcourse，you’vemadefriends，Iheard。Well，no，Zametovisnothere。Yes，we’velostZametov。He’snotbeenheresinceyesterday…hequarrelledwitheveryoneonleaving…intherudestway。Heisafeather-headedyoungster，that’sall；onemighthaveexpectedsomethingfromhim，butthere，youknowwhattheyare，ourbrilliantyoungmen。Hewantedtogoinforsomeexamination，butit’sonlytotalkandboastaboutit，itwillgonofurtherthanthat。Ofcourseit’saverydifferentmatterwithyouorMr。Razumihinthere，yourfriend。Yourcareerisanintellectualoneandyouwon’tbedeterredbyfailure。Foryou，onemaysay，alltheattractionsoflifenihilest—youareanascetic，amonk，ahermit！…Abook，apenbehindyourear，alearnedresearch—that’swhereyourspiritsoars！Iamthesamewaymyself。…HaveyoureadLivingstone’sTravels？”
　　“No。”
　　“Oh，Ihave。ThereareagreatmanyNihilistsaboutnowadays，youknow，andindeeditisnottobewonderedat。Whatsortofdaysarethey？Iaskyou。Butwethought…youarenotaNihilistofcourse？Answermeopenly，openly！”
　　“N-no…”
　　“Believeme，youcanspeakopenlytomeasyouwouldtoyourself！Officialdutyisonethingbut…youarethinkingImeanttosayfriendshipisquiteanother？No，you’rewrong！It’snotfriendship，butthefeelingofamanandacitizen，thefeelingofhumanityandoflovefortheAlmighty。Imaybeanofficial，butIamalwaysboundtofeelmyselfamanandacitizen。…YouwereaskingaboutZametov。ZametovwillmakeascandalintheFrenchstyleinahouseofbadreputation，overaglassofchampagne…that’sallyourZametovisgoodfor！WhileI’mperhaps，sotospeak，burningwithdevotionandloftyfeelings，andbesidesIhaverank，consequence，apost！Iammarriedandhavechildren，Ifulfilthedutiesofamanandacitizen，butwhoishe，mayIask？Iappealtoyouasamanennobledbyeducation…Thenthesemidwives，too，havebecomeextraordinarilynumerous。”
　　Raskolnikovraisedhiseyebrowsinquiringly。ThewordsofIlyaPetrovitch，whohadobviouslybeendining，wereforthemostpartastreamofemptysoundsforhim。Butsomeofthemheunderstood。Helookedathiminquiringly，notknowinghowitwouldend。
　　“Imeanthosecrop-headedwenches，”thetalkativeIlyaPetrovitchcontinued。“Midwivesismynameforthem。Ithinkitaverysatisfactoryone，ha-ha！TheygototheAcademy，studyanatomy。IfIfallill，amItosendforayoungladytotreatme？Whatdoyousay？Ha-ha！”IlyaPetrovitchlaughed，quitepleasedwithhisownwit。“It’sanimmoderatezealforeducation，butonceyou’reeducated，that’senough。Whyabuseit？Whyinsulthonourablepeople，asthatscoundrelZametovdoes？Whydidheinsultme，Iaskyou？Lookatthesesuicides，too，howcommontheyare，youcan’tfancy！Peoplespendtheirlasthalfpennyandkillthemselves，boysandgirlsandoldpeople。Onlythismorningweheardaboutagentlemanwhohadjustcometotown。NilPavlitch，Isay，whatwasthenameofthatgentlemanwhoshothimself？”
　　“Svidrigailov，”someoneansweredfromtheotherroomwithdrowsylistlessness。
　　Raskolnikovstarted。
　　“Svidrigailov！Svidrigailovhasshothimself！”hecried。
　　“What，doyouknowSvidrigailov？”
　　“Yes…Iknewhim。…Hehadn’tbeenherelong。”
　　“Yes，that’sso。Hehadlosthiswife，wasamanofrecklesshabitsandallofasuddenshothimself，andinsuchashockingway。…Heleftinhisnotebookafewwords:thathediesinfullpossessionofhisfacultiesandthatnooneistoblameforhisdeath。Hehadmoney，theysay。Howdidyoucometoknowhim？”
　　“I…wasacquainted…mysisterwasgovernessinhisfamily。”
　　“Bah-bah-bah！Thennodoubtyoucantellussomethingabouthim。Youhadnosuspicion？”
　　“Isawhimyesterday…he…wasdrinkingwine；Iknewnothing。”
　　Raskolnikovfeltasthoughsomethinghadfallenonhimandwasstiflinghim。
　　“You’veturnedpaleagain。It’ssostuffyhere…”
　　“Yes，Imustgo，”mutteredRaskolnikov。“Excusemytroublingyou。…”
　　“Oh，notatall，asoftenasyoulike。It’sapleasuretoseeyouandIamgladtosayso。”
　　IlyaPetrovitchheldouthishand。
　　“Ionlywanted…IcametoseeZametov。”
　　“Iunderstand，Iunderstand，andit’sapleasuretoseeyou。”
　　“I…amveryglad…good-bye，”Raskolnikovsmiled。
　　Hewentout；hereeled，hewasovertakenwithgiddinessanddidnotknowwhathewasdoing。Hebegangoingdownthestairs，supportinghimselfwithhisrighthandagainstthewall。Hefanciedthataporterpushedpasthimonhiswayupstairstothepoliceoffice，thatadoginthelowerstoreykeptupashrillbarkingandthatawomanflungarolling-pinatitandshouted。Hewentdownandoutintotheyard。There，notfarfromtheentrance，stoodSonia，paleandhorror-stricken。Shelookedwildlyathim。Hestoodstillbeforeher。Therewasalookofpoignantagony，ofdespair，inherface。Sheclaspedherhands。Hislipsworkedinanugly，meaninglesssmile。Hestoodstillaminute，grinnedandwentbacktothepoliceoffice。
　　IlyaPetrovitchhadsatdownandwasrummagingamongsomepapers。Beforehimstoodthesamepeasantwhohadpushedbyonthestairs。
　　“Hulloa！Backagain！haveyouleftsomethingbehind？What’sthematter？”
　　Raskolnikov，withwhitelipsandstaringeyes，cameslowlynearer。Hewalkedrighttothetable，leanedhishandonit，triedtosaysomething，butcouldnot；onlyincoherentsoundswereaudible。
　　“Youarefeelingill，achair！Here，sitdown！Somewater！”
　　Raskolnikovdroppedontoachair，buthekepthiseyesfixedonthefaceofIlyaPetrovitch，whichexpressedunpleasantsurprise。Bothlookedatoneanotherforaminuteandwaited。Waterwasbrought。
　　“ItwasI…”beganRaskolnikov。
　　“Drinksomewater。”
　　Raskolnikovrefusedthewaterwithhishand，andsoftlyandbrokenly，butdistinctlysaid:
　　“ItwasIkilledtheoldpawnbrokerwomanandhersisterLizavetawithanaxeandrobbedthem。”
　　IlyaPetrovitchopenedhismouth。Peopleranuponallsides。
　　Raskolnikovrepeatedhisstatement。