Part 3 Chapter 4
At that moment the door was softly opened, and a young girl walked into the room, looking timidly about her. Everyone turned towards her with surprise and curiosity. At first sight, Raskolnikov did not recognise her. It was Sofya Semyonovna Marmeladov. He had seen her yesterday for the first time, but at such a moment, in such surroundings and in such a dress, that his memory retained a very different image of her. Now she was a modestly and poorly-dressed young girl, very young, indeed, almost like a child, with a modest and refined manner, with a candid but somewhat frightened-looking face. She was wearing a very plain indoor dress, and had on a shabby old- fashioned hat, but she still carried a parasol. Unexpectedly finding the room full of people, she was not so much embarrassed as completely overwhelmed with shyness, like a little child. She was even about to retreat. "Oh . . . it's you!" said Raskolnikov, extremely astonished, and he, too, was confused. He at once recollected that his mother and sister knew through Luzhin's letter of "some young woman of notorious behaviour." He had only just been protesting against Luzhin's calumny and declaring that he had seen the girl last night for the first time, and suddenly she had walked in. He remembered, too, that he had not protested against the expression "of notorious behaviour." All this passed vaguely and fleetingly through his brain, but looking at her more intently, he saw that the humiliated creature was so humiliated that he felt suddenly sorry for her. When she made a movement to retreat in terror, it sent a pang to his heart.
"I did not expect you," he said, hurriedly, with a look that made her stop. "Please sit down. You come, no doubt, from Katerina Ivanovna. Allow me--not there. Sit here. . . ."
At Sonia's entrance, Razumihin, who had been sitting on one of Raskolnikov's three chairs, close to the door, got up to allow her to enter. Raskolnikov had at first shown her the place on the sofa where Zossimov had been sitting, but feeling that the sofa which served him as a bed, was too /familiar/ a place, he hurriedly motioned her to Razumihin's chair.
"You sit here," he said to Razumihin, putting him on the sofa.
Sonia sat down, almost shaking with terror, and looked timidly at the two ladies. It was evidently almost inconceivable to herself that she could sit down beside them. At the thought of it, she was so frightened that she hurriedly got up again, and in utter confusion addressed Raskolnikov.
"I . . . I . . . have come for one minute. Forgive me for disturbing you," she began falteringly. "I come from Katerina Ivanovna, and she had no one to send. Katerina Ivanovna told me to beg you . . . to be at the service . . . in the morning . . . at Mitrofanievsky . . . and then . . . to us . . . to her . . . to do her the honour . . . she told me to beg you . . ." Sonia stammered and ceased speaking.
"I will try, certainly, most certainly," answered Raskolnikov. He, too, stood up, and he, too, faltered and could not finish his sentence. "Please sit down," he said, suddenly. "I want to talk to you. You are perhaps in a hurry, but please, be so kind, spare me two minutes," and he drew up a chair for her.
Sonia sat down again, and again timidly she took a hurried, frightened look at the two ladies, and dropped her eyes. Raskolnikov's pale face flushed, a shudder passed over him, his eyes glowed.
"Mother," he said, firmly and insistently, "this is Sofya Semyonovna Marmeladov, the daughter of that unfortunate Mr. Marmeladov, who was run over yesterday before my eyes, and of whom I was just telling you."
Pulcheria Alexandrovna glanced at Sonia, and slightly screwed up her eyes. In spite of her embarrassment before Rodya's urgent and challenging look, she could not deny herself that satisfaction. Dounia gazed gravely and intently into the poor girl's face, and scrutinised her with perplexity. Sonia, hearing herself introduced, tried to raise her eyes again, but was more embarrassed than ever.
"I wanted to ask you," said Raskolnikov, hastily, "how things were arranged yesterday. You were not worried by the police, for instance?"
"No, that was all right . . . it was too evident, the cause of death . . . they did not worry us . . . only the lodgers are angry."
"Why?"
"At the body's remaining so long. You see it is hot now. So that, to-day, they will carry it to the cemetery, into the chapel, until to-morrow. At first Katerina Ivanovna was unwilling, but now she sees herself that it's necessary . . ."
"To-day, then?"
"She begs you to do us the honour to be in the church to-morrow for the service, and then to be present at the funeral lunch."
"She is giving a funeral lunch?"
"Yes . . . just a little. . . . She told me to thank you very much for helping us yesterday. But for you, we should have had nothing for the funeral."
All at once her lips and chin began trembling, but, with an effort, she controlled herself, looking down again.
During the conversation, Raskolnikov watched her carefully. She had a thin, very thin, pale little face, rather irregular and angular, with a sharp little nose and chin. She could not have been called pretty, but her blue eyes were so clear, and when they lighted up, there was such a kindliness and simplicity in her expression that one could not help being attracted. Her face, and her whole figure indeed, had another peculiar characteristic. In spite of her eighteen years, she looked almost a little girl--almost a child. And in some of her gestures, this childishness seemed almost absurd.
"But has Katerina Ivanovna been able to manage with such small means? Does she even mean to have a funeral lunch?" Raskolnikov asked, persistently keeping up the conversation.
"The coffin will be plain, of course . . . and everything will be plain, so it won't cost much. Katerina Ivanovna and I have reckoned it all out, so that there will be enough left . . . and Katerina Ivanovna was very anxious it should be so. You know one can't . . . it's a comfort to her . . . she is like that, you know. . . ."
"I understand, I understand . . . of course . . . why do you look at my room like that? My mother has just said it is like a tomb."
"You gave us everything yesterday," Sonia said suddenly, in reply, in a loud rapid whisper; and again she looked down in confusion. Her lips and chin were trembling once more. She had been struck at once by Raskolnikov's poor surroundings, and now these words broke out spontaneously. A silence followed. There was a light in Dounia's eyes, and even Pulcheria Alexandrovna looked kindly at Sonia.
"Rodya," she said, getting up, "we shall have dinner together, of course. Come, Dounia. . . . And you, Rodya, had better go for a little walk, and then rest and lie down before you come to see us. . . . I am afraid we have exhausted you. . . ."
"Yes, yes, I'll come," he answered, getting up fussily. "But I have something to see to."
"But surely you will have dinner together?" cried Razumihin, looking in surprise at Raskolnikov. "What do you mean?"
"Yes, yes, I am coming . . . of course, of course! And you stay a minute. You do not want him just now, do you, mother? Or perhaps I am taking him from you?"
"Oh, no, no. And will you, Dmitri Prokofitch, do us the favour of dining with us?"
"Please do," added Dounia.
Razumihin bowed, positively radiant. For one moment, they were all strangely embarrassed.
"Good-bye, Rodya, that is till we meet. I do not like saying good-bye. Good-bye, Nastasya. Ah, I have said good-bye again."
Pulcheria Alexandrovna meant to greet Sonia, too; but it somehow failed to come off, and she went in a flutter out of the room.
But Avdotya Romanovna seemed to await her turn, and following her mother out, gave Sonia an attentive, courteous bow. Sonia, in confusion, gave a hurried, frightened curtsy. There was a look of poignant discomfort in her face, as though Avdotya Romanovna's courtesy and attention were oppressive and painful to her.
"Dounia, good-bye," called Raskolnikov, in the passage. "Give me your hand."
"Why, I did give it to you. Have you forgotten?" said Dounia, turning warmly and awkwardly to him.
"Never mind, give it to me again." And he squeezed her fingers warmly.
Dounia smiled, flushed, pulled her hand away, and went off quite happy.
"Come, that's capital," he said to Sonia, going back and looking brightly at her. "God give peace to the dead, the living have still to live. That is right, isn't it?"
Sonia looked surprised at the sudden brightness of his face. He looked at her for some moments in silence. The whole history of the dead father floated before his memory in those moments. . . .
*****
"Heavens, Dounia," Pulcheria Alexandrovna began, as soon as they were in the street, "I really feel relieved myself at coming away--more at ease. How little did I think yesterday in the train that I could ever be glad of that."
"I tell you again, mother, he is still very ill. Don't you see it? Perhaps worrying about us upset him. We must be patient, and much, much can be forgiven."
"Well, you were not very patient!" Pulcheria Alexandrovna caught her up, hotly and jealously. "Do you know, Dounia, I was looking at you two. You are the very portrait of him, and not so much in face as in soul. You are both melancholy, both morose and hot-tempered, both haughty and both generous. . . . Surely he can't be an egoist, Dounia. Eh? When I think of what is in store for us this evening, my heart sinks!"
"Don't be uneasy, mother. What must be, will be."
"Dounia, only think what a position we are in! What if Pyotr Petrovitch breaks it off?" poor Pulcheria Alexandrovna blurted out, incautiously.
"He won't be worth much if he does," answered Dounia, sharply and contemptuously.
"We did well to come away," Pulcheria Alexandrovna hurriedly broke in. "He was in a hurry about some business or other. If he gets out and has a breath of air . . . it is fearfully close in his room. . . . But where is one to get a breath of air here? The very streets here feel like shut-up rooms. Good heavens! what a town! . . . stay . . . this side . . . they will crush you--carrying something. Why, it is a piano they have got, I declare . . . how they push! . . . I am very much afraid of that young woman, too."
"What young woman, mother?
"Why, that Sofya Semyonovna, who was there just now."
"Why?"
"I have a presentiment, Dounia. Well, you may believe it or not, but as soon as she came in, that very minute, I felt that she was the chief cause of the trouble. . . ."
"Nothing of the sort!" cried Dounia, in vexation. "What nonsense, with your presentiments, mother! He only made her acquaintance the evening before, and he did not know her when she came in."
"Well, you will see. . . . She worries me; but you will see, you will see! I was so frightened. She was gazing at me with those eyes. I could scarcely sit still in my chair when he began introducing her, do you remember? It seems so strange, but Pyotr Petrovitch writes like that about her, and he introduces her to us--to you! So he must think a great deal of her."
"People will write anything. We were talked about and written about, too. Have you forgotten? I am sure that she is a good girl, and that it is all nonsense."
"God grant it may be!"
"And Pyotr Petrovitch is a contemptible slanderer," Dounia snapped out, suddenly.
Pulcheria Alexandrovna was crushed; the conversation was not resumed.
*****
"I will tell you what I want with you," said Raskolnikov, drawing Razumihin to the window.
"Then I will tell Katerina Ivanovna that you are coming," Sonia said hurriedly, preparing to depart.
"One minute, Sofya Semyonovna. We have no secrets. You are not in our way. I want to have another word or two with you. Listen!" he turned suddenly to Razumihin again. "You know that . . . what's his name . . . Porfiry Petrovitch?"
"I should think so! He is a relation. Why?" added the latter, with interest.
"Is not he managing that case . . . you know, about that murder? . . . You were speaking about it yesterday."
"Yes . . . well?" Razumihin's eyes opened wide.
"He was inquiring for people who had pawned things, and I have some pledges there, too--trifles--a ring my sister gave me as a keepsake when I left home, and my father's silver watch--they are only worth five or six roubles altogether . . . but I value them. So what am I to do now? I do not want to lose the things, especially the watch. I was quaking just now, for fear mother would ask to look at it, when we spoke of Dounia's watch. It is the only thing of father's left us. She would be ill if it were lost. You know what women are. So tell me what to do. I know I ought to have given notice at the police station, but would it not be better to go straight to Porfiry? Eh? What do you think? The matter might be settled more quickly. You see, mother may ask for it before dinner."
"Certainly not to the police station. Certainly to Porfiry," Razumihin shouted in extraordinary excitement. "Well, how glad I am. Let us go at once. It is a couple of steps. We shall be sure to find him."
"Very well, let us go."
"And he will be very, very glad to make your acquaintance. I have often talked to him of you at different times. I was speaking of you yesterday. Let us go. So you knew the old woman? So that's it! It is all turning out splendidly. . . . Oh, yes, Sofya Ivanovna . . ."
"Sofya Semyonovna," corrected Raskolnikov. "Sofya Semyonovna, this is my friend Razumihin, and he is a good man."
"If you have to go now," Sonia was beginning, not looking at Razumihin at all, and still more embarrassed.
"Let us go," decided Raskolnikov. "I will come to you to-day, Sofya Semyonovna. Only tell me where you live."
He was not exactly ill at ease, but seemed hurried, and avoided her eyes. Sonia gave her address, and flushed as she did so. They all went out together.
"Don't you lock up?" asked Razumihin, following him on to the stairs.
"Never," answered Raskolnikov. "I have been meaning to buy a lock for these two years. People are happy who have no need of locks," he said, laughing, to Sonia. They stood still in the gateway.
"Do you go to the right, Sofya Semyonovna? How did you find me, by the way?" he added, as though he wanted to say something quite different. He wanted to look at her soft clear eyes, but this was not easy.
"Why, you gave your address to Polenka yesterday."
"Polenka? Oh, yes; Polenka, that is the little girl. She is your sister? Did I give her the address?"
"Why, had you forgotten?"
"No, I remember."
"I had heard my father speak of you . . . only I did not know your name, and he did not know it. And now I came . . . and as I had learnt your name, I asked to-day, 'Where does Mr. Raskolnikov live?' I did not know you had only a room too. . . . Good-bye, I will tell Katerina Ivanovna."
She was extremely glad to escape at last; she went away looking down, hurrying to get out of sight as soon as possible, to walk the twenty steps to the turning on the right and to be at last alone, and then moving rapidly along, looking at no one, noticing nothing, to think, to remember, to meditate on every word, every detail. Never, never had she felt anything like this. Dimly and unconsciously a whole new world was opening before her. She remembered suddenly that Raskolnikov meant to come to her that day, perhaps at once!
"Only not to-day, please, not to-day!" she kept muttering with a sinking heart, as though entreating someone, like a frightened child. "Mercy! to me . . . to that room . . . he will see . . . oh, dear!"
She was not capable at that instant of noticing an unknown gentleman who was watching her and following at her heels. He had accompanied her from the gateway. At the moment when Razumihin, Raskolnikov, and she stood still at parting on the pavement, this gentleman, who was just passing, started on hearing Sonia's words: "and I asked where Mr. Raskolnikov lived?" He turned a rapid but attentive look upon all three, especially upon Raskolnikov, to whom Sonia was speaking; then looked back and noted the house. All this was done in an instant as he passed, and trying not to betray his interest, he walked on more slowly as though waiting for something. He was waiting for Sonia; he saw that they were parting, and that Sonia was going home.
"Home? Where? I've seen that face somewhere," he thought. "I must find out."
At the turning he crossed over, looked round, and saw Sonia coming the same way, noticing nothing. She turned the corner. He followed her on the other side. After about fifty paces he crossed over again, overtook her and kept two or three yards behind her.
He was a man about fifty, rather tall and thickly set, with broad high shoulders which made him look as though he stooped a little. He wore good and fashionable clothes, and looked like a gentleman of position. He carried a handsome cane, which he tapped on the pavement at each step; his gloves were spotless. He had a broad, rather pleasant face with high cheek-bones and a fresh colour, not often seen in Petersburg. His flaxen hair was still abundant, and only touched here and there with grey, and his thick square beard was even lighter than his hair. His eyes were blue and had a cold and thoughtful look; his lips were crimson. He was a remarkedly well-preserved man and looked much younger than his years.
When Sonia came out on the canal bank, they were the only two persons on the pavement. He observed her dreaminess and preoccupation. On reaching the house where she lodged, Sonia turned in at the gate; he followed her, seeming rather surprised. In the courtyard she turned to the right corner. "Bah!" muttered the unknown gentleman, and mounted the stairs behind her. Only then Sonia noticed him. She reached the third storey, turned down the passage, and rang at No. 9. On the door was inscribed in chalk, "Kapernaumov, Tailor." "Bah!" the stranger repeated again, wondering at the strange coincidence, and he rang next door, at No. 8. The doors were two or three yards apart.
"You lodge at Kapernaumov's," he said, looking at Sonia and laughing. "He altered a waistcoat for me yesterday. I am staying close here at Madame Resslich's. How odd!" Sonia looked at him attentively.
"We are neighbours," he went on gaily. "I only came to town the day before yesterday. Good-bye for the present."
Sonia made no reply; the door opened and she slipped in. She felt for some reason ashamed and uneasy.
*****
On the way to Porfiry's, Razumihin was obviously excited.
"That's capital, brother," he repeated several times, "and I am glad! I am glad!"
"What are you glad about?" Raskolnikov thought to himself.
"I didn't know that you pledged things at the old woman's, too. And . . . was it long ago? I mean, was it long since you were there?"
"What a simple-hearted fool he is!"
"When was it?" Raskolnikov stopped still to recollect. "Two or three days before her death it must have been. But I am not going to redeem the things now," he put in with a sort of hurried and conspicuous solicitude about the things. "I've not more than a silver rouble left . . . after last night's accursed delirium!"
He laid special emphasis on the delirium.
"Yes, yes," Razumihin hastened to agree--with what was not clear. "Then that's why you . . . were stuck . . . partly . . . you know in your delirium you were continually mentioning some rings or chains! Yes, yes . . . that's clear, it's all clear now."
"Hullo! How that idea must have got about among them. Here this man will go to the stake for me, and I find him delighted at having it /cleared up/ why I spoke of rings in my delirium! What a hold the idea must have on all of them!"
"Shall we find him?" he asked suddenly.
"Oh, yes," Razumihin answered quickly. "He is a nice fellow, you will see, brother. Rather clumsy, that is to say, he is a man of polished manners, but I mean clumsy in a different sense. He is an intelligent fellow, very much so indeed, but he has his own range of ideas. . . . He is incredulous, sceptical, cynical . . . he likes to impose on people, or rather to make fun of them. His is the old, circumstantial method. . . . But he understands his work . . . thoroughly. . . . Last year he cleared up a case of murder in which the police had hardly a clue. He is very, very anxious to make your acquaintance!"
"On what grounds is he so anxious?"
"Oh, it's not exactly . . . you see, since you've been ill I happen to have mentioned you several times. . . . So, when he heard about you . . . about your being a law student and not able to finish your studies, he said, 'What a pity!' And so I concluded . . . from everything together, not only that; yesterday Zametov . . . you know, Rodya, I talked some nonsense on the way home to you yesterday, when I was drunk . . . I am afraid, brother, of your exaggerating it, you see."
"What? That they think I am a madman? Maybe they are right," he said with a constrained smile.
"Yes, yes. . . . That is, pooh, no! . . . But all that I said (and there was something else too) it was all nonsense, drunken nonsense."
"But why are you apologising? I am so sick of it all!" Raskolnikov cried with exaggerated irritability. It was partly assumed, however.
"I know, I know, I understand. Believe me, I understand. One's ashamed to speak of it."
"If you are ashamed, then don't speak of it."
Both were silent. Razumihin was more than ecstatic and Raskolnikov perceived it with repulsion. He was alarmed, too, by what Razumihin had just said about Porfiry.
"I shall have to pull a long face with him too," he thought, with a beating heart, and he turned white, "and do it naturally, too. But the most natural thing would be to do nothing at all. Carefully do nothing at all! No, /carefully/ would not be natural again. . . . Oh, well, we shall see how it turns out. . . . We shall see . . . directly. Is it a good thing to go or not? The butterfly flies to the light. My heart is beating, that's what's bad!"
"In this grey house," said Razumihin.
"The most important thing, does Porfiry know that I was at the old hag's flat yesterday . . . and asked about the blood? I must find that out instantly, as soon as I go in, find out from his face; otherwise . . . I'll find out, if it's my ruin."
"I say, brother," he said suddenly, addressing Razumihin, with a sly smile, "I have been noticing all day that you seem to be curiously excited. Isn't it so?"
"Excited? Not a bit of it," said Razumihin, stung to the quick.
"Yes, brother, I assure you it's noticeable. Why, you sat on your chair in a way you never do sit, on the edge somehow, and you seemed to be writhing all the time. You kept jumping up for nothing. One moment you were angry, and the next your face looked like a sweetmeat. You even blushed; especially when you were invited to dinner, you blushed awfully."
"Nothing of the sort, nonsense! What do you mean?"
"But why are you wriggling out of it, like a schoolboy? By Jove, there he's blushing again."
"What a pig you are!"
"But why are you so shamefaced about it? Romeo! Stay, I'll tell of you to-day. Ha-ha-ha! I'll make mother laugh, and someone else, too . . ."
"Listen, listen, listen, this is serious. . . . What next, you fiend!" Razumihin was utterly overwhelmed, turning cold with horror. "What will you tell them? Come, brother . . . foo! what a pig you are!"
"You are like a summer rose. And if only you knew how it suits you; a Romeo over six foot high! And how you've washed to-day--you cleaned your nails, I declare. Eh? That's something unheard of! Why, I do believe you've got pomatum on your hair! Bend down."
"Pig!"
Raskolnikov laughed as though he could not restrain himself. So laughing, they entered Porfiry Petrovitch's flat. This is what Raskolnikov wanted: from within they could be heard laughing as they came in, still guffawing in the passage.
"Not a word here or I'll . . . brain you!" Razumihin whispered furiously, seizing Raskolnikov by the shoulder.
这时房门轻轻地开了，有个姑一娘一怯生生地东张西望着，走进屋里。大家都惊讶而好奇地看着她。拉斯科利尼科夫没有立刻认出她来。这是索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜·马尔梅拉多娃。昨天他第一次看到她，然而是在那种时候，那样的环境里，她又穿了那么一身衣服，所以印在他记忆里的完全是另一个人的形象。现在这却是一个衣着朴素，甚至穿得和穷人一样的姑一娘一，还十分年轻，几乎像个小姑一娘一，谦逊端庄，彬彬有礼，脸上神情开朗，可又好像有点儿胆怯。她穿一件很朴素的、家常穿的连衫裙，戴一顶老式的旧帽子；不过还像昨天一样，手里拿着一把小伞。看到出乎意外的满满一屋子人，与其说她感到不好意思，倒不如说她完全惊慌失措了，她像小孩子样觉得害怕，甚至做了个想要退出去的动作。
“啊……是您吗？……”拉斯科利尼科夫异常惊讶地说，突然感到很窘。
他立刻想到，母亲和妹妹已经从卢任的信上略微知道，有这么一个行为“不端”的年轻姑一娘一。他刚刚还在抗议卢任的诽谤，说他是头一次看到这个姑一娘一，现在她却突然进到他屋里来了。他还记起，对“行为不端”一词，他丝毫没有提出抗议。这一切在他脑子里模模糊糊地一闪而过。但是他更加聚一精一会神地看了看她，突然发觉，这个被侮辱的人已经给作践成这个样子，顿时可怜起她来。当她吓得想要逃走的时候，他心里真难过极了。
“我完全没想到您会来，”他赶紧说，同时用目光留住她。
“请坐。您大概是从卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜那儿来。对不起，不是这里，请坐这儿……”
索尼娅进来的时候，坐在拉斯科利尼科夫三把椅子中紧一靠门边那把椅子上的拉祖米欣欠起身来，让她进去。起初拉斯科利尼科夫想让她坐到沙发上佐西莫夫坐过的那个角落里，但是想到，叫她坐沙发未免过于亲一昵了，因为沙发也就是他的一床一，于是又赶紧让她坐到拉祖米欣坐的那把椅子上。
“你呢，请坐这里，”他对拉祖米欣说，让他坐到佐西莫夫坐过的那个角落里。
索尼娅坐了下来，几乎吓得发一抖，并怯生生地看了看那两位女士。看得出来，她自己也不明白，她怎么能和她们坐在一起。想到这一点，她吓得突然又站起来，完全惊慌失措地对拉斯科利尼科夫说：
“我……我……来只待一会儿，请原谅我打搅您，”她结结巴巴地说。“是卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜叫我来的，她没有人可供差遣……卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜恳请您明天去参加安魂弥撒，早晨……作日祷的时候……在米特罗法尼耶夫斯基墓地①，然后上我们家去……去她那里……吃饭……请您赏光……她叫我来请您。”
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①米特罗法尼耶夫斯基墓地是埋葬小官吏、手艺人和士兵的公墓，建于一八三一年霍乱流行的时候。
索尼娅讷讷地说完，不作声了。
“我一定尽可能去……一定去，”拉斯科利尼科夫回答，也欠起身来，也说得结结巴巴地，而且没有把话说完……“您请坐，”他突然说，“我得跟您谈谈，请坐啊，——您也许很忙，但是请给我两分钟时间……”
他把椅子推给她。索尼娅又坐下来，又怯生生地、惊慌失措地赶快朝那两位女士看了一眼，突然低下了头。
拉斯科利尼科夫苍白的脸突然涨得血红；他仿佛浑身一抽一搐了一下，两眼闪闪发光。
“一妈一妈一，”他坚决而执拗地说，“这是索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜·马尔梅拉多娃，就是那位不幸的马尔梅拉多夫先生的女儿，昨天我亲眼看到他被马踩伤了，他的事我已经跟你们说过……”
普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜朝索尼娅看了一眼，微微眯缝起眼睛。尽管在罗佳坚定和挑衅的目光一逼一视下，她感到侷促不安，但是她无论如何也不能放弃这一让自己得到满足的机会。杜涅奇卡严肃地凝神注视着这个面色苍白的姑一娘一的脸，困惑不解地细细打量着她。索尼娅听到在介绍她，又抬起眼来，但是比以前更加慌乱了。
“我想请问您，”拉斯科利尼科夫赶紧对她说，“今天你们那儿事情办得怎么样？有没有人来找麻烦？……譬如说，警察局里。”
“没有，一切都过去了……因为，是怎么死的，这太明显了；没有人来找麻烦；只不过那些房客很生气。”
“为什么？”
“因为一尸一体停放了很久……现在天热，有臭味……所以今天晚祷前就抬到墓地去，抬到小教堂去停放到明天。卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜起初不愿意，现在自己也看出，不能再……”
“那么今天？”
“她请您赏光，明天去参加教堂里的安魂弥撒，然后去她那里，参加酬客宴。”
“她要办酬客宴？”
“是的，随便弄几样菜；她一再嘱咐，叫我谢谢您，谢谢您昨天帮助我们……没有您帮助，就根本没钱安葬，”她的嘴唇，还有下巴，都突然抖动起来，但是她努力克制着，忍住了，赶快又垂下眼睛看着地下。
谈话的时候，拉斯科利尼科夫凝神细细地打量她。他看到的是一张瘦削的、十分瘦削的小一脸，面色苍白，长得不够端正，有点儿尖，生着尖尖的小鼻子和尖尖的小下巴。甚至不能说她长得漂亮，但是她那双淡蓝色的眼睛却是那么明亮，而当它们光彩四射的时候，她脸上的神情就变得那么善良和天真，人们不由得会被她吸引住。此外，她的脸上，她的整个体态中都显示出一种不同寻常的一性一格特点：尽管她已经十八岁了，可看上去还几乎是一个小姑一娘一，好像比她的实际年龄小得多，几乎完全像个小孩子，有时这一点甚至会可笑地在她的某些动作中表现出来。
“可是难道这么一点儿钱，卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜就够用了，甚至还想置办酒席？……”拉斯科利尼科夫问，执拗地要把谈话继续下去。
“棺材只买普通的……一切从简，所以花不了多少钱……刚才我跟卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜计算过了，还能剩下点儿钱，来办酬客宴……卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜想这么办。因为不能不……对她来说，这也是个安慰……她就是这样的人，您是知道的……”
“我懂，我懂……当然啦……您为什么仔细看我的房子？
一妈一妈一也说，它像口棺材。”
“您昨天把钱都送给我们了！”索涅奇卡突然用很富有感染力而且说得很快的低声回答，突然又垂下眼睛，看着地下。嘴唇和下巴又抖动起来。她早已对拉斯科利尼科夫的贫困状况感到惊讶了，现在这些话突然不由自主地脱口而出。接着是一阵沉默。杜涅奇卡的眼睛不知为什么流露出和蔼可亲的神情，普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜甚至亲切地看了看索尼娅。
“罗佳，”她说，一边站了起来，“我们当然是在一起吃午饭了。杜涅奇卡，咱们走吧……而你，罗佳，你先去散一会儿步，然后休息休息，躺一躺，早点儿去我们那里……要不，我们会让你太累了，我担心……”
“好，好，我来，”他回答，说着慌忙站起来……“不过我还有事……”
“难道你们不在一起吃午饭了？”拉祖米欣惊奇地看着拉斯科利尼科夫，高声叫喊，“你这是做什么？”
“是的，是的，我来，当然，当然……请你留下来，稍等一会儿。你们现在不需要他吧，一妈一妈一？也许，我可以把他留下来？”
“啊，不，不！而您，德米特里·普罗科菲伊奇，请来吃午饭，您肯赏光吗？”
“请您一定来！”杜尼娅邀请说。
拉祖米欣鞠了个躬，容光焕发。有一瞬间不知为什么大家都突然奇怪地感到有些不好意思了。
“别了，罗佳，我是说，再见；我不喜欢说‘别了’，别了，娜斯塔西娅，……唉，又说‘别了’！……”
普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜本想也与索尼娅告别，可是不知为什么没有这么做，就急忙从屋里出去了。
但是阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜仿佛在等着轮到她和大家告别，她跟着母亲从索尼娅身边走过的时候，殷勤而彬彬有礼地对她深深地一躬到地。索涅奇卡发窘了，躬身还礼时有点儿匆匆忙忙，神色惊慌，脸上甚至流露出某种痛苦的神情，似乎阿芙多季娅·罗曼诺芙娜的客气和殷勤只能使她感到难过和痛苦。
“杜尼娅，别了！”已经到了穿堂里，拉斯科利尼科夫喊了一声，“握握手吧！”
“我不是已经和你握过手了，忘了吗？”杜尼娅一温一柔地、又有点儿不好意思地转身面对着他，回答。
“那有什么关系，再握一次嘛！”
他紧紧地握了握她的手指。杜涅奇卡对他微微一笑，脸红了，赶快挣脱自己的手，跟着母亲走了，不知为什么她也感到十分幸福。
“啊，好极了！”他回到自己屋里，神情泰然地朝索尼娅看了一眼，对她说，“愿上帝让死者安息，但活着的人必须活下去！是这样吗？是这样吗？是这样，不是吗？”
索尼娅甚至惊奇地看着他突然变得神情开朗的脸；有一会儿工夫他默默地凝神注视着她，她去世的父亲所讲的关于她的那些故事这时突然掠过他的脑海……
“上帝啊，杜涅奇卡！”普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜和女儿一走到街上，立刻就说，“我们出来了，现在我倒好像很高兴；不知为什么觉得轻松些了。唉，昨天坐在车厢里的时候，我哪里想到，竟会为这感到高兴呢！”
“我又要对您说了，一妈一妈一，他还病得很厉害呢。难道您没看出来？也许是因为他非常想念我们，心情不好，损害了自己的身一体。应该对他采取宽容态度，很多事情，很多事情都是可以原谅的。”
“可你并不宽容！”普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜立刻急躁而又嫉妒地打断了她。“你要知道，杜尼娅，我看看你们兄妹俩，你简直就是他的活肖像，而且与其说是面貌像，不如说是一性一格像：你们俩都是一性一情忧郁的人，两人都郁闷不乐，脾气急躁，两人都高傲自大，两人都豁达大度……他不可能成为一个自私自利的人，杜涅奇卡，不是吗？……我一想到今天晚上我们那里会出什么事，心就停止跳动了！”
“您别担心，一妈一妈一，该怎么着，就怎么着。”
“杜涅奇卡！你只要想想看，我们现在是什么样的处境！要是彼得·彼特罗维奇拒绝了，那会怎样呢？”可怜的普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜一不小心，突然把心里的话说了出来。
“要是那样，他还有哪一点值得留恋呢！”杜涅奇卡尖锐而轻蔑地回答。
“现在我们走了，这样做很对，” 普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜连忙打断了她的话，“他有事，急着要去什么地方；让他出去走走，至少可以呼吸点儿新鲜空气……他那儿闷得要命……可是这儿哪有可以呼吸新鲜空气的地方？就连这里，大街上，也像在没有气窗的屋里一样。上帝呀，这是个什么样的城市啊！……快站住，让开，会踩死人的，不知是拉着什么飞跑！这拉的不是一架钢琴吗，真的……都是这样横一冲一直一撞……对这个少女，我也非常害怕……”
“什么少女，一妈一妈一？”
“就是这个，就是刚刚在他那儿的索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜……”
“怕什么呢？”
“我有这么一种预感，杜尼娅。嗯，信不信由你，她一进来，当时我就想，这就是主要的……”
“根本不是！”杜尼娅遗憾地高声说。“您和您的预感都不对，一妈一妈一！他昨天刚认识她，刚才她一进来，他都没认出来。”
“嗯，你会看到的！……她让我心慌意乱，你会看到的，你会看到的！我觉得那么害怕：她瞅着我，瞅着我，一双眼睛是那样的，你记得吗，他开始介绍她的时候，我在椅子上都坐不住了？我觉得奇怪：彼得·彼特罗维奇在信上是那样写的，他却把她介绍给我们，甚至介绍给你！可见在他眼里，她是很珍贵的！”
“管他信上写什么呢！我们也让人议论过，人家也在信上谈论过我们，您忘记了吗？可我相信，她……是个好姑一娘一，这些话都是一胡一扯！”
“愿上帝保佑她！”
“彼得·彼特罗维奇却是个卑鄙的造谣中伤的家伙，”杜涅奇卡突然毫无顾忌地说。
普莉赫里娅·亚历山德罗芙娜立刻不再作声了。谈话中断了。
“是这样，我有这么一件事要跟你谈谈……”拉斯科利尼科夫把拉祖米欣拉到窗边，对他说……
“那么我就告诉卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜，说您一定来……”索尼娅急忙说，于是告辞，就想走了。
“等一等，索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜，我们没有秘密，您不会妨碍我们……我还要跟您说两句话……是这么回事，”话还没说完，仿佛给打断了，他突然又对拉祖米欣说。“你认识这个……他叫什么来着？……波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇，是吗？”
“当然！是我的亲戚。有什么事吗？”他补充说，突然产生了好奇心。
“现在这个案子……就是这件凶杀案……就是你们昨天谈的……不是他在办吗？”
“是啊…怎么呢？”拉祖米欣突然瞪大了眼睛。
“他在询问抵押东西的人，可那里也有我抵押的两件东西，东西不值钱，不过有我妹妹的一只戒指，是我到这里来的时候她送给我作纪念的，还有我父亲的一块银表。总共只值五、六个卢布，可是对我来说，都很珍贵，因为是纪念品。现在我该怎么办呢？我不愿让这些东西遗失，特别是那块表。刚才我谈起杜涅奇卡的表的时候，我生怕母亲会问起，要看看我那块表，吓得我心在怦怦地跳。这是父亲死后完整无损保存下来的唯一一件东西。如果丢一了，她准会病倒的！女人嘛！那么该怎么办呢，你给出个主意！我知道，得去分局登记。不过直接跟波尔菲里谈是不是更好呢，啊？你看该怎么办？这事得快点儿办妥。你等着瞧，午饭前一妈一妈一准会问起！”
“绝对不要去分局，一定得找波尔菲里！”拉祖米欣异常激动地叫喊。“啊，我多么高兴！干吗在这儿谈，咱们马上就走，只几步路，准能找到他！”
“好吧……咱们走……”
“他会非常、非常、非常、非常高兴和你认识！我跟他讲过很多关于你的事，在不同的时候……昨天也谈过。咱们走！……那么你认识那个老太婆？这就是了！……这一切都弄清了！……啊，对了……索菲娅·伊万诺芙娜……”
“索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜，”拉斯科利尼科夫纠正他。“索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜，这是我的朋友，拉祖米欣，他是个好人……”
“如果你们现在要走……”索菲娅说，对拉祖米欣连一眼也没看，可是这样倒更加不好意思了。
“咱们走吧！”拉斯科利尼科夫决定了，“今天我就去您那儿一趟，索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜，不过请告诉我，您住在哪儿？”
他倒不是感到不知所措，而是好像急于出去，而且避开了她的目光。索尼娅给他留下了地址，这时她脸红了。大家一起出去了。
“难道不锁门吗？”拉祖米欣问，边说，边跟着他们下楼去。
“从来不锁！……不过两年来我一直想要买把锁，”他漫不经心地补上一句。“用不着锁门的人不是很幸福吗？”他笑着对索尼娅说。
在街上，他们在大门前站住了。
“索菲娅·谢苗诺芙娜，您往右去，是吗？顺带问一声：您是怎么找到我的？”他问，似乎他想对她说的完全是什么别的事情。他一直想看着她那双一温一和而明亮的眼睛，可不知为什么总是做不到……
“昨天您不是把地址告诉波列奇卡了吗。”
“波莉娅？啊，对了……波列奇卡！这是个……小姑一娘一……
是您妹妹？这么说，我给她留下了地址了？”
“难道您忘了吗？”
“不……我记得……”
“我也听先父谈起过您……不过那时候还不知道您的姓名，连他也不知道……现在我来……因为昨天知道了您姓什么，……所以今天就问：拉斯科利尼科夫先生住在这儿什么地方？……我不知道，你也是租二房东的房子……别了……
我就对卡捷琳娜·伊万诺芙娜说……”
她终于走了，为此感到非常高兴；她低着头，急急忙忙地走着，好尽快走出他们的视野，尽快走完这二十步路，到达转弯的地方，往右一拐，到大街上，终于只剩下她一个人，于是匆匆忙忙地走着，既不看任何人，也不注意任何东西，只是在想，在回忆，思索着说过的每一句话，每一种情况。她从来，从来没有过类似的感觉。一个全新的世界神秘地、模模糊糊地进入她的心灵。她突然想起，他想今天到她那儿去，也许是早晨，也许现在就去！
“不过可不要今天去，请不要今天去！”她喃喃地自言自语，心都揪紧了，就像一个惊恐的小孩子在恳求什么人似的。
“上帝啊！上我那儿去……去那间屋里……他会看到……噢，上帝啊！”
这时她当然不会发觉，有一个她不认识的先生正留心注意着她，在后面紧紧地跟着她。一出大门，他就在跟踪她。当他们三个，拉祖米欣，拉斯科利尼科夫和她站在人行道上又说了几句话的时候，这个过路的人从他们身边绕过去，无意中听到索尼娅说的这句话：“我就问，拉斯科利尼科夫先生住在这儿什么地方？”好像突然颤一抖了一下。他很快，然而很细心地把这三个人打量了一番，特别留心看了看索尼娅跟他说话的那个拉斯科利尼科夫；然后看了看那幢房子，并且记住了它。这一切都是他过路时一瞬间的事，这个过路的人甚至竭力不引人注意，继续往前走去，可是放慢了脚步，好像是在等着什么人。他在等着索尼娅；他看到他们分手了，现在索尼娅就要回家去了。
“她回哪儿去呢？我在什么地方见过这张面孔，”他想，一边在回忆索尼娅的面容……“得去弄清楚。”
到了转弯处，他穿过马路走到街道对面，回头一看，看到索尼娅已经跟着他走了过来，走的也是那同一条街道，可是她什么也没发觉。走到转弯处，她也恰好折到这条街上来了。他跟在她后面，从对面人行道上目不转睛地盯着她；走了五十来步以后，他又穿过马路，回到索尼娅走的那一边，追上了她，跟在她后面，保持着五步远的距离。
这是个五十岁左右的人，比中等身材略高一些，相当粗一壮，肩膀很宽，而且向上拱起，所以看上去有点儿像是驼背。他衣着考究而且舒适，神气十足，完全是一副老爷派头。他手提一根很漂亮的手杖，每走一步，都用手杖在人行道上轻轻地拄一拄，手上还戴着一副崭新的手套。他那张颧骨突出的脸相当讨人喜欢，他的脸色红一润，不像彼得堡人的脸。他的头发还很浓密，完全是淡黄色的，只是稍有几根银丝，他那部又宽又浓的大一胡一子像一把铲子，颜色比头发还淡一些。他的眼睛是淡蓝色的，看人的时候目光冷冰冰的，凝神一逼一视，若有所思；嘴唇颜色是鲜红的。总之，这是一个保养得很好的人，看上去比他的实际年龄年轻得多。
索尼娅走到运河边的时候，他们两人都到了人行道上。他在用心观察她，发觉她神情若有所思，心不在焉。索尼娅走到她住的那幢房子，转弯进了大门，他跟在她后面，好像有点儿惊讶的样子，进了院子，她往右边那个角落走去，通往她住房的楼梯就在那个角落上。“咦！”那个陌生的老爷喃喃地说，也跟在她后面上了楼梯。这时索尼娅才注意到他。她上到三楼，转进一条走廊，拉了拉九号的门铃，房门上用粉笔写着：“裁缝卡佩尔纳乌莫夫”。那个陌生人又说了一声“咦！”对这奇怪的巧合感到惊讶，他拉了拉旁边八号的门铃。
两道门只隔着五、六步远。
“您住在卡佩尔纳乌莫夫家啊！”他望着索尼娅，笑着说。
“昨天他给我改过一件坎肩。我住在这儿，紧挨着您的房子，住在列斯莉赫，盖尔特鲁达·卡尔洛芙娜太太的房子里。多巧啊！”
索尼娅留心看了看他。
“我们是邻居，”不知为什么他特别愉快地接着说。“要知道，我来到城里总共才两天多。好，再见。”
索尼娅没有回答；房门开了，她溜进了自己的房子里。她不知为什么害羞了，好像感到害怕……
在去波尔菲里家的路上，拉祖米欣异常兴奋。
“老兄，这真好极了，”这句话他重复了好几次，“我也觉得高兴！我很高兴！”
“你高兴什么呢？”拉斯科利尼科夫心中暗想。
“以前我不知道你也在老太婆那儿抵押过东西。这……这……很久了吗？也就是说，你去她那儿是很久以前的事吗？”
“好一个天真的傻瓜！”
“什么时候吗？……”拉斯科利尼科夫停顿了一下，他在回忆，“她死前三天我好像去过她那儿。不过，现在我并不是去赎回那些东西，”他赶快接着说，好像对这些东西特别关心，“因为我又只剩下一个银卢布了……由于昨天那该死的神智不清！……”
神智不清几个字他说得特别有力。
“嗯，对，对，对，”拉祖米欣连忙说，不知是附和他的哪一句话，“所以那时候……你有点儿吃惊了……你知道吗，你说一胡一话的时候老是提到什么戒指和表链！……嗯，对了，对了……清楚了，现在一切都清楚了。”
“原来如此！嘿，原来这个想法已经在他们当中传播开来了！这个人将要代我去受极刑；我很高兴，在我说一胡一话的时候为什么提到戒指，现在已经弄清楚了！他们大家对此已经深信不疑了！……”
“我们能见到他吗？”他大声问。
“能见到，能见到，”拉祖米欣连忙说，“老兄，他是个好小伙子，你见到他就知道了！有点儿笨，也就是说，他是个文质彬彬的人，我说他笨，是指另一方面。是个聪明人，聪明，甚至是聪明过人，不过思想方法跟别人不一样……疑心重，怀疑一切，厚颜无一耻，……喜欢骗人，也就是说，不是骗人，而是愚弄别人……他的侦查方法还是老一套，只重证据……不过很懂行，一精一通业务……去年他也经办过这样一件凶杀案，几乎所有线索都断了，可是他却破了案！他非常，非常，非常想跟你认识认识。”
“他为什么非常想呢？”
“就是说，并不是……你要知道，最近一个时期，自从你病了以后，我经常跟他谈起你，谈了你的很多情况……嗯，他听着，……听说你在法律系学一习一，可是由于家境的关系，没能毕业，于是说：‘多么可惜！’所以我就断定……也就是说，这一切凑到一起，而不单是这一点；昨天扎苗托夫……你要知道，罗佳，昨天我喝醉了，送你回家的时候，跟你说了些没意思的话……所以我，老兄，我担心，你可别把我的话夸大了，你要知道……”
“你指的是什么？是说他们把我看作疯子吗？是的，也许这是对的。”
他勉强笑了笑。
“是的……是的……也就是说，别睬它，不！……嗯，而且我所说的一切（旁的话也一样），全都是醉话，一胡一说八道。”
“你干吗道歉呢！这一切都让我烦透了！”拉斯科利尼科夫用夸张的气愤语调高声喊道。其实他是有点儿装出来的。
“我知道，我知道，我理解。请相信，我是理解的。就连说出来，都觉得不好意思……”
“如果不好意思，那就别说！”
两人都不说话了。拉祖米欣十分高兴，拉斯科利尼科夫感觉到了这一点，对此感到厌恶。拉祖米欣刚才讲的关于波尔菲里的那番话又使他感到担心。
“对这个人也得唱拉撒路之歌①，”他想，面色苍白，心在怦怦地狂跳，“而且要唱得自然些。不唱，是最自然的了。要尽可能什么也别唱！不，尽可能又不自然了……嗯，看情况吧……咱们走着瞧……现在……我去，这好，还是不好呢？飞蛾扑火。心在跳，这可不好！……”
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①意思是：装作不幸的人，向人诉苦。圣经上有这么一个寓言：拉撒路是个穷人，躺在铁石心肠的富人门前求乞。
“就在这幢灰色的房子里，”拉祖米欣说。
“最重要的是，波尔菲里知道不知道昨天我去过这个巫婆的住宅……还问起过那摊血？这一点得马上弄清楚，一进去就弄清楚，从他的脸上看出来；不—然—的—话……哪怕我要完蛋，也一定要弄清楚！”
“你知道吗？”他突然对拉祖米欣说，脸上带着狡猾的微笑，“老兄，今天我发觉，从早上你就特别激动，对吗？”
“什么激动？我根本就不激动，”拉祖米欣不由得颤一抖了一下。
“不，老兄，真的，这看得出来。刚才你坐在椅子上的姿势就跟往常不一样，不知为什么坐在椅子边上，而且一直很不自然地动来动去，好像在一抽一筋。还无缘无故地忽然跳起来。一会儿一爱一发脾气，一会儿不知为什么脸上的表情变得那么甜，甜得像冰糖。你甚至脸都红了；特别是请你去吃午饭的时候，你脸红得好厉害。”
“根本没有这么回事；你一胡一说！……我说这话是什么意思？”
“你怎么像小学生一样躲躲闪闪的！嘿，见鬼，你脸又红了！”
“不过，你真是头猪猡！”
“可你干吗不好意思了？罗密欧①啊！你先别忙，今天我可要在什么地方把这些都说出来，哈——哈——哈！让一妈一妈一开心开心……还要让另一个人……”
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①莎士比亚名剧《罗密欧与朱丽叶》中的男主人公。
“你听我说，你听我说，你听我说，这可不是开玩笑的事，因为这……你要说，那会怎样呢，见鬼！”拉祖米欣已经彻底惊慌失措，吓得浑身发冷。“你要对她们说什么？我，老兄……
呸，你真是头猪猡！”
“你简直是一朵春天的玫瑰！你要知道，这个比方对你是多么合适；两俄尺十俄寸高的罗密欧！啊，今天你洗得多么干净，手指甲也洗干净了，是吗？什么时候有过这样的事？啊，真的，你的头发搽过油了？你低下头来！”
“猪猡！！！”
拉斯科利尼科夫笑得那么厉害，好像怎么也忍不住了，于是就这样大笑着走进了波尔菲里·彼特罗维奇的寓所。拉斯科利尼科夫正需要这样：从屋里可以听到，他们是笑着进来的，在前室里还一直在哈哈大笑。
“在这里一个字也别提，要不，我就……打碎你的脑袋！”
拉祖米欣抓着拉斯科利尼科夫的肩膀，狂怒地低声说。