Lebeziatnikov
looked
perturbed. "I've
come
to
you, Sofya Semyonovna,"
he
began. "Excuse me... I
thought
I
should
find you,"
he
said,
addressing
Raskolnikov suddenly, "that is, I didn't
mean
anything...
of
that
sort...
But
I
just
thought... Katerina Ivanovna has gone
out
of
her
mind,"
he
blurted
out
suddenly,
turning
from
Raskolnikov
to
Sonia. Sonia screamed. "At
least
it
seems
so. But...
we
don't
know
what
to
do,
you
see!
She
came back—she
seems
to
have
been
turned
out
somewhere,
perhaps
beaten....
So
it
seems
at
least,...
She
had
run
to
your
father's
former
chief,
she
didn't find
him
at
home:
he
was
dining
at
some
other
general's....
Only
fancy,
she
rushed
off
there,
to
the
other
general's, and, imagine,
she
was
so
persistent
that
she
managed
to
get
the
chief
to
see
her, had
him
fetched
out
from
dinner,
it
seems.
You
can
imagine
what
happened.
She
was
turned
out,
of
course; but, according
to
her
own
story,
she
abused
him
and
threw
something
at
him.
One
may
well
believe
it....
How
it
is
she
wasn't taken up, I can't understand!
Now
she
is
telling everyone,
including
Amalia Ivanovna;
but
it's
difficult
to
understand
her,
she
is
screaming
and
flinging
herself
about....
Oh
yes,
she
shouts
that
since
everyone has abandoned her,
she
will
take
the
children
and
go
into
the
street
with
a barrel-organ,
and
the
children
will
sing
and
dance,
and
she
too,
and
collect
money,
and
will
go
every
day
under
the
general's window... 'to
let
everyone
see
well-born
children,
whose
father
was
an
official,
begging
in
the
street.'
She
keeps
beating
the
children
and
they
are
all
crying.
She
is
teaching
Lida
to
sing 'My Village,'
the
boy
to
dance, Polenka
the
same.
She
is
tearing
up
all
the
clothes,
and
making
them
little
caps
like
actors;
she
means
to
carry a
tin
basin
and
make
it
tinkle,
instead
of
music....
She
won't
listen
to
anything....
Imagine
the
state
of
things! It's
beyond
anything!" Lebeziatnikov
would
have
gone on,
but
Sonia,
who
had
heard
him
almost
breathless, snatched
up
her
cloak
and
hat,
and
ran
out
of
the
room,
putting
on
her
things
as
she
went. Raskolnikov
followed
her
and
Lebeziatnikov came
after
him. "She has certainly gone mad!"
he
said
to
Raskolnikov,
as
they
went
out
into
the
street. "I didn't
want
to
frighten Sofya Semyonovna,
so
I said 'it
seemed
like
it,'
but
there
isn't a
doubt
of
it.
They
say
that
in
consumption
the
tubercles
sometimes
occur
in
the
brain; it's a
pity
I
know
nothing
of
medicine. I
did
try
to
persuade
her,
but
she
wouldn't listen." "Did
you
talk
to
her
about
the
tubercles?" "Not
precisely
of
the
tubercles. Besides,
she
wouldn't
have
understood!
But
what
I
say
is,
that
if
you
convince
a
person
logically
that
he
has
nothing
to
cry
about, he'll stop crying. That's clear.
Is
it
your
conviction
that
he
won't?" "Life
would
be
too
easy
if
it
were
so,"
answered
Raskolnikov. "Excuse me,
excuse
me;
of
course
it
would
be
rather
difficult
for
Katerina Ivanovna
to
understand,
but
do
you
know
that
in
Paris
they
have
been
conducting
serious
experiments
as
to
the
possibility
of
curing
the
insane, simply
by
logical argument?
One
professor
there, a
scientific
man
of
standing,
lately
dead,
believed
in
the
possibility
of
such
treatment.
His
idea
was
that
there's
nothing
really
wrong
with
the
physical organism
of
the
insane,
and
that
insanity
is,
so
to
say, a logical mistake,
an
error
of
judgment,
an
incorrect
view
of
things.
He
gradually
showed
the
madman
his
error
and,
would
you
believe
it,
they
say
he
was
successful?
But
as
he
made
use
of
douches
too,
how
far
success
was
due
to
that
treatment
remains
uncertain....
So
it
seems
at
least." Raskolnikov had
long
ceased
to
listen. Reaching
the
house
where
he
lived,
he
nodded
to
Lebeziatnikov
and
went
in
at
the
gate. Lebeziatnikov woke
up
with
a start,
looked
about
him
and
hurried on. Raskolnikov went
into
his
little
room
and
stood
still
in
the
middle
of
it.
Why
had
he
come
back
here?
He
looked
at
the
yellow
and
tattered paper,
at
the
dust,
at
his
sofa....
From
the
yard
came a
loud
continuous
knocking; someone
seemed
to
be
hammering...
He
went
to
the
window,
rose
on
tiptoe
and
looked
out
into
the
yard
for
a
long
time
with
an
air
of
absorbed
attention.
But
the
yard
was
empty
and
he
could
not
see
who
was
hammering.
In
the
house
on
the
left
he
saw
some
open
windows;
on
the
window-sills
were
pots
of
sickly-looking geraniums.
Linen
was
hung
out
of
the
windows...
He
knew
it
all
by
heart.
He
turned
away
and
sat
down
on
the
sofa. Never,
never
had
he
felt
himself
so
fearfully alone! Yes,
he
felt
once
more
that
he
would
perhaps
come
to
hate
Sonia,
now
that
he
had
made
her
more
miserable. "Why had
he
gone
to
her
to
beg
for
her
tears?
What
need
had
he
to
poison
her
life? Oh,
the
meanness
of
it!" "I
will
remain
alone,"
he
said resolutely, "and
she
shall
not
come
to
the
prison!"
Five
minutes
later
he
raised
his
head
with
a
strange
smile.
That
was
a
strange
thought. "Perhaps
it
really
would
be
better
in
Siberia,"
he
thought
suddenly.
He
could
not
have
said
how
long
he
sat
there
with
vague
thoughts
surging
through
his
mind.
All
at
once
the
door
opened
and
Dounia came in.
At
first
she
stood
still
and
looked
at
him
from
the
doorway,
just
as
he
had
done
at
Sonia;
then
she
came
in
and
sat
down
in
the
same
place
as
yesterday,
on
the
chair facing him.
He
looked
silently
and
almost
vacantly
at
her. "Don't
be
angry, brother; I've
only
come
for
one
minute," said Dounia.
Her
face
looked
thoughtful
but
not
stern.
Her
eyes
were
bright
and
soft.
He
saw
that
she
too
had
come
to
him
with
love.
She
turned
abruptly
and
went
towards
the
door. "Dounia!" Raskolnikov stopped
her
and
went
towards
her. "That Razumihin, Dmitri Prokofitch,
is
a
very
good
fellow." Dounia flushed slightly. "Well?"
she
asked,
waiting
a moment. "He
is
competent, hardworking,
honest
and
capable
of
real
love.... Good-bye, Dounia." Dounia flushed crimson,
then
suddenly
she
took
alarm. "But
what
does
it
mean, brother?
Are
we
really parting
for
ever
that
you...
give
me
such
a parting message?" "Never mind.... Good-bye."
He
turned
away,
and
walked
to
the
window.
She
stood a moment,
looked
at
him
uneasily,
and
went
out
troubled. "Afterwards
she
may
shudder
when
she
remembers
that
I
embraced
her,
and
will
feel
that
I
stole
her
kiss."
And
he
thought
of
Sonia.
There
was
a
breath
of
fresh
air
from
the
window.
The
daylight
was
fading.
He
took
up
his
cap
and
went out.
He
could
not,
of
course,
and
would
not
consider
how
ill
he
was.
But
all
this
continual
anxiety
and
agony
of
mind
could
not
but
affect him.
And
if
he
were
not
lying
in
high
fever
it
was
perhaps
just
because
this
continual
inner
strain
helped
to
keep
him
on
his
legs
and
in
possession
of
his
faculties.
But
this
artificial
excitement
could
not
last
long.
He
wandered
aimlessly.
The
sun
was
setting. A
special
form
of
misery
had begun
to
oppress
him
of
late.
There
was
nothing
poignant,
nothing
acute
about
it;
but
there
was
a feeling
of
permanence,
of
eternity
about
it;
it
brought a foretaste
of
hopeless
years
of
this
cold
leaden
misery, a foretaste
of
an
eternity
"on a
square
yard
of
space."
Towards
evening
this
sensation
usually began
to
weigh
on
him
more
heavily. "With
this
idiotic, purely physical weakness,
depending
on
the
sunset
or
something,
one
can't
help
doing
something
stupid! You'll
go
to
Dounia,
as
well
as
to
Sonia,"
he
muttered
bitterly.
He
heard
his
name
called.
He
looked
round. Lebeziatnikov
rushed
up
to
him. "Only fancy, I've been
to
your
room
looking
for
you.
Only
fancy, she's carried
out
her
plan,
and
taken
away
the
children. Sofya Semyonovna
and
I
have
had a job
to
find them.
She
is
rapping
on
a frying-pan
and
making
the
children dance.
The
children
are
crying.
They
keep
stopping
at
the
cross-roads
and
in
front
of
shops; there's a crowd
of
fools running
after
them.
Come
along!" "And Sonia?" Raskolnikov
asked
anxiously, hurrying
after
Lebeziatnikov. "Simply frantic.
That
is, it's
not
Sofya Semyonovna's frantic,
but
Katerina Ivanovna,
though
Sofya Semyonova's
frantic
too.
But
Katerina Ivanovna
is
absolutely
frantic. I
tell
you
she
is
quite
mad. They'll
be
taken
to
the
police.
You
can
fancy
what
an
effect
that
will
have....
They
are
on
the
canal
bank,
near
the
bridge
now,
not
far
from
Sofya Semyonovna's,
quite
close."
On
the
canal
bank
near
the
bridge
and
not
two
houses
away
from
the
one
where
Sonia lodged,
there
was
a crowd
of
people,
consisting
principally
of
gutter children.
The
hoarse
broken
voice
of
Katerina Ivanovna
could
be
heard
from
the
bridge,
and
it
certainly
was
a
strange
spectacle
likely
to
attract
a
street
crowd. Katerina Ivanovna
in
her
old
dress
with
the
green
shawl, wearing a
torn
straw hat, crushed
in
a
hideous
way
on
one
side,
was
really frantic.
She
was
exhausted
and
breathless.
Her
wasted
consumptive
face
looked
more
suffering
than
ever,
and
indeed
out
of
doors
in
the
sunshine
a
consumptive
always
looks
worse
than
at
home.
But
her
excitement
did
not
flag,
and
every
moment
her
irritation
grew
more
intense.
She
rushed
at
the
children, shouted
at
them, coaxed them,
told
them
before
the
crowd
how
to
dance
and
what
to
sing, began
explaining
to
them
why
it
was
necessary,
and
driven
to
desperation
by
their
not
understanding, beat them....
Then
she
would
make
a
rush
at
the
crowd;
if
she
noticed
any
decently
dressed
person
stopping
to
look,
she
immediately
appealed
to
him
to
see
what
these
children "from a genteel,
one
may
say
aristocratic, house" had been brought to.
If
she
heard
laughter
or
jeering
in
the
crowd,
she
would
rush
at
once
at
the
scoffers
and
begin
squabbling
with
them.
Some
people
laughed,
others
shook
their
heads,
but
everyone felt
curious
at
the
sight
of
the
madwoman
with
the
frightened children.
The
frying-pan
of
which
Lebeziatnikov had spoken
was
not
there,
at
least
Raskolnikov
did
not
see
it.
But
instead
of
rapping
on
the
pan, Katerina Ivanovna began clapping
her
wasted hands,
when
she
made
Lida
and
Kolya dance
and
Polenka sing.
She
too
joined
in
the
singing,
but
broke
down
at
the
second
note
with
a fearful cough,
which
made
her
curse
in
despair
and
even
shed
tears.
What
made
her
most
furious
was
the
weeping
and
terror
of
Kolya
and
Lida.
Some
effort
had been
made
to
dress
the
children
up
as
street
singers
are
dressed.
The
boy
had
on
a
turban
made
of
something
red
and
white
to
look
like
a Turk.
There
had been
no
costume
for
Lida;
she
simply had a
red
knitted
cap,
or
rather
a
night
cap
that
had
belonged
to
Marmeladov,
decorated
with
a
broken
piece
of
white
ostrich
feather,
which
had been Katerina Ivanovna's grandmother's
and
had been preserved
as
a
family
possession. Polenka
was
in
her
everyday dress;
she
looked
in
timid
perplexity
at
her
mother,
and
kept
at
her
side,
hiding
her
tears.
She
dimly
realised
her
mother's condition,
and
looked
uneasily
about
her.
She
was
terribly frightened
of
the
street
and
the
crowd. Sonia
followed
Katerina Ivanovna,
weeping
and
beseeching
her
to
return
home,
but
Katerina Ivanovna
was
not
to
be
persuaded.
And
she,
almost
crying
herself—which
did
not
stop
her
uninterrupted,
rapid
flow
of
talk—pointed
to
the
crying
children. Raskolnikov tried
to
persuade
her
to
go
home,
and
even
said, hoping
to
work
on
her
vanity,
that
it
was
unseemly
for
her
to
be
wandering
about
the
streets
like
an
organ-grinder,
as
she
was
intending
to
become
the
principal
of
a boarding-school. (Cough-cough-cough!) "Set
your
dress straight, Polenka, it's slipped
down
on
your
shoulders,"
she
observed,
panting
from
coughing. "Now it's particularly
necessary
to
behave
nicely
and
genteelly,
that
all
may
see
that
you
are
well-born
children. I said
at
the
time
that
the
bodice
should
be
cut
longer,
and
made
of
two
widths.
It
was
your
fault, Sonia,
with
your
advice
to
make
it
shorter,
and
now
you
see
the
child
is
quite
deformed
by
it.... Why, you're
all
crying
again! What's
the
matter, stupids? Come, Kolya, begin.
Make
haste,
make
haste! Oh,
what
an
unbearable
child! "Cinq sous, cinq sous. "A policeman again!
What
do
you
want?" A policeman
was
indeed
forcing
his
way
through
the
crowd.
But
at
that
moment
a gentleman
in
civilian
uniform
and
an
overcoat—a solid-looking
official
of
about
fifty
with
a
decoration
on
his
neck
(which
delighted
Katerina Ivanovna
and
had
its
effect
on
the
policeman)—approached
and
without
a
word
handed
her
a
green
three-rouble note.
His
face wore a
look
of
genuine
sympathy. Katerina Ivanovna
took
it
and
gave
him
a polite,
even
ceremonious, bow. "I
thank
you,
honoured
sir,"
she
began loftily. "The
causes
that
have
induced
us
(take
the
money, Polenka:
you
see
there
are
generous
and
honourable
people
who
are
ready
to
help
a
poor
gentlewoman
in
distress).
You
see,
honoured
sir,
these
orphans
of
good
family—I
might
even
say
of
aristocratic
connections—and
that
wretch
of
a
general
sat
eating
grouse...
and
stamped
at
my
disturbing
him. 'Your excellency,' I said, 'protect
the
orphans,
for
you
knew
my
late
husband, Semyon Zaharovitch,
and
on
the
very
day
of
his
death
the
basest
of
scoundrels
slandered
his
only
daughter.'...
That
policeman again!
Protect
me,"
she
cried
to
the
official. "Why
is
that
policeman edging
up
to
me?
We
have
only
just
run
away
from
one
of
them.
What
do
you
want, fool?" "It's forbidden
in
the
streets.
You
mustn't
make
a disturbance." "It's you're
making
a disturbance. It's
just
the
same
as
if
I
were
grinding
an
organ.
What
business
is
it
of
yours?" "You
have
to
get
a
licence
for
an
organ,
and
you
haven't got one,
and
in
that
way
you
collect
a crowd.
Where
do
you
lodge?" "What, a license?" wailed Katerina Ivanovna. "I buried my husband to-day.
What
need
of
a license?" "Calm yourself, madam,
calm
yourself," began
the
official. "Come along; I
will
escort
you....
This
is
no
place
for
you
in
the
crowd.
You
are
ill." "Honoured sir,
honoured
sir,
you
don't know,"
screamed
Katerina Ivanovna. "We
are
going
to
the
Nevsky.... Sonia, Sonia!
Where
is
she?
She
is
crying
too! What's
the
matter
with
you
all? Kolya, Lida,
where
are
you
going?"
she
cried suddenly
in
alarm. "Oh,
silly
children! Kolya, Lida,
where
are
they
off
to?..." Kolya
and
Lida, scared
out
of
their
wits
by
the
crowd,
and
their
mother's
mad
pranks, suddenly
seized
each
other
by
the
hand,
and
ran
off
at
the
sight
of
the
policeman
who
wanted
to
take
them
away
somewhere.
Weeping
and
wailing,
poor
Katerina Ivanovna
ran
after
them.
She
was
a
piteous
and
unseemly
spectacle,
as
she
ran,
weeping
and
panting
for
breath. Sonia
and
Polenka
rushed
after
them. "Bring
them
back,
bring
them
back, Sonia!
Oh
stupid, ungrateful children!... Polenka!
catch
them.... It's
for
your
sakes I..."
She
stumbled
as
she
ran
and
fell
down. "She's
cut
herself, she's bleeding! Oh, dear!" cried Sonia,
bending
over
her.
All
ran
up
and
crowded around. Raskolnikov
and
Lebeziatnikov
were
the
first
at
her
side,
the
official
too
hastened up,
and
behind
him
the
policeman
who
muttered, "Bother!"
with
a gesture
of
impatience, feeling
that
the
job
was
going
to
be
a troublesome one. "Pass on! Pass on!"
he
said
to
the
crowd
that
pressed
forward. "She's dying," someone shouted. "She's gone
out
of
her
mind," said another. "Lord
have
mercy
upon
us," said a woman, crossing herself. "Have
they
caught
the
little
girl
and
the
boy? They're being brought back,
the
elder
one's got them.... Ah,
the
naughty
imps!"
When
they
examined
Katerina Ivanovna carefully,
they
saw
that
she
had
not
cut
herself
against a stone,
as
Sonia thought,
but
that
the
blood
that
stained
the
pavement
red
was
from
her
chest. "I've
seen
that
before,"
muttered
the
official
to
Raskolnikov
and
Lebeziatnikov; "that's consumption;
the
blood flows
and
chokes
the
patient. I
saw
the
same
thing
with
a
relative
of
my
own
not
long
ago... nearly a
pint
of
blood,
all
in
a minute.... What's
to
be
done
though?
She
is
dying." "This way,
this
way,
to
my room!" Sonia implored. "I
live
here!... See,
that
house,
the
second
from
here....
Come
to
me,
make
haste,"
she
turned
from
one
to
the
other. "Send
for
the
doctor! Oh, dear!"
Thanks
to
the
official's efforts,
this
plan
was
adopted,
the
policeman
even
helping
to
carry Katerina Ivanovna.
She
was
carried
to
Sonia's room,
almost
unconscious,
and
laid
on
the
bed.
The
blood
was
still
flowing,
but
she
seemed
to
be
coming
to
herself. Raskolnikov, Lebeziatnikov,
and
the
official
accompanied Sonia
into
the
room
and
were
followed
by
the
policeman,
who
first
drove
back
the
crowd
which
followed
to
the
very
door. Polenka came
in
holding Kolya
and
Lida,
who
were
trembling
and
weeping.
Several
persons
came
in
too
from
the
Kapernaumovs' room;
the
landlord, a
lame
one-eyed
man
of
strange
appearance
with
whiskers
and
hair
that
stood
up
like
a brush,
his
wife, a
woman
with
an
everlastingly scared expression,
and
several
open-mouthed children
with
wonder-struck faces.
Among
these, Svidrigaďlov suddenly
made
his
appearance. Raskolnikov
looked
at
him
with
surprise,
not
understanding
where
he
had
come
from
and
not
having
noticed
him
in
the
crowd. A doctor
and
priest
wore spoken of.
The
official
whispered
to
Raskolnikov
that
he
thought
it
was
too
late
now
for
the
doctor,
but
he
ordered
him
to
be
sent for. Kapernaumov
ran
himself. Meanwhile Katerina Ivanovna had
regained
her
breath.
The
bleeding
ceased
for
a time.
She
looked
with
sick
but
intent
and
penetrating
eyes
at
Sonia,
who
stood
pale
and
trembling, wiping
the
sweat
from
her
brow
with
a handkerchief.
At
last
she
asked
to
be
raised.
They
sat
her
up
on
the
bed, supporting
her
on
both
sides. "Where
are
the
children?"
she
said
in
a faint voice. "You've brought them, Polenka?
Oh
the
sillies!
Why
did
you
run
away.... Och!"
Once
more
her
parched
lips
were
covered
with
blood.
She
moved
her
eyes,
looking
about
her. "So that's
how
you
live, Sonia!
Never
once
have
I been
in
your
room."
She
looked
at
her
with
a face
of
suffering. "We
have
been
your
ruin, Sonia. Polenka, Lida, Kolya,
come
here! Well,
here
they
are, Sonia,
take
them
all! I
hand
them
over
to
you, I've had enough!
The
ball
is
over." (Cough!) "Lay
me
down,
let
me
die
in
peace."
They
laid
her
back
on
the
pillow. "What,
the
priest? I don't
want
him.
You
haven't got a rouble
to
spare. I
have
no
sins.
God
must
forgive
me
without
that.
He
knows
how
I
have
suffered....
And
if
He
won't
forgive
me, I don't care!"
She
sank
more
and
more
into
uneasy delirium.
At
times
she
shuddered,
turned
her
eyes
from
side
to
side,
recognised
everyone
for
a minute,
but
at
once
sank
into
delirium
again.
Her
breathing
was
hoarse
and
difficult,
there
was
a
sort
of
rattle
in
her
throat. "What next? That's
the
thing
to
sing. "In
the
heat
of
midday
in
the
vale
of
Dagestan. "Ah,
how
I
loved
it! I
loved
that
song
to
distraction, Polenka!
Your
father,
you
know, used
to
sing
it
when
we
were
engaged....
Oh
those
days!
Oh
that's
the
thing
for
us
to
sing!
How
does
it
go? I've forgotten. Remind me!
How
was
it?"
She
was
violently
excited
and
tried
to
sit
up.
At
last,
in
a horribly hoarse,
broken
voice,
she
began,
shrieking
and
gasping
at
every
word,
with
a
look
of
growing
terror. "In
the
heat
of
midday!...
in
the
vale!...
of
Dagestan!...
With
lead
in
my breast!..." "Your excellency!"
she
wailed suddenly
with
a heart-rending
scream
and
a flood
of
tears, "protect
the
orphans!
You
have
been
their
father's guest...
one
may
say
aristocratic...."
She
started,
regaining
consciousness,
and
gazed
at
all
with
a
sort
of
terror,
but
at
once
recognised
Sonia. "Sonia, Sonia!"
she
articulated softly
and
caressingly,
as
though
surprised
to
find
her
there. "Sonia darling,
are
you
here, too?"
They
lifted
her
up
again. "Enough! It's over! Farewell,
poor
thing! I
am
done
for! I
am
broken!"
she
cried
with
vindictive
despair,
and
her
head
fell
heavily
back
on
the
pillow.
She
sank
into
unconsciousness again,
but
this
time
it
did
not
last
long.
Her
pale, yellow, wasted face
dropped
back,
her
mouth
fell
open,
her
leg
moved
convulsively,
she
gave a deep,
deep
sigh
and
died. Sonia
fell
upon
her, flung
her
arms
about
her,
and
remained
motionless
with
her
head
pressed
to
the
dead
woman's wasted bosom. Polenka threw
herself
at
her
mother's feet,
kissing
them
and
weeping
violently.
Though
Kolya
and
Lida
did
not
understand
what
had happened,
they
had a feeling
that
it
was
something
terrible;
they
put
their
hands
on
each
other's
little
shoulders, stared straight
at
one
another
and
both
at
once
opened
their
mouths
and
began screaming.
They
were
both
still
in
their
fancy dress;
one
in
a turban,
the
other
in
the
cap
with
the
ostrich
feather.
And
how
did
"the
certificate
of
merit"
come
to
be
on
the
bed
beside
Katerina Ivanovna?
It
lay
there
by
the
pillow; Raskolnikov
saw
it.
He
walked
away
to
the
window. Lebeziatnikov skipped
up
to
him. "She
is
dead,"
he
said. "Rodion Romanovitch, I
must
have
two
words
with
you," said Svidrigaďlov, coming
up
to
them. Lebeziatnikov
at
once
made
room
for
him
and
delicately withdrew. Svidrigaďlov
drew
Raskolnikov
further
away. "I
will
undertake
all
the
arrangements,
the
funeral
and
that.
You
know
it's a
question
of
money
and,
as
I
told
you, I
have
plenty
to
spare. I
will
put
those
two
little
ones
and
Polenka
into
some
good
orphan asylum,
and
I
will
settle
fifteen
hundred
roubles
to
be
paid
to
each
on
coming
of
age,
so
that
Sofya Semyonovna
need
have
no
anxiety
about
them.
And
I
will
pull
her
out
of
the
mud
too,
for
she
is
a
good
girl, isn't she?
So
tell
Avdotya Romanovna
that
that
is
how
I
am
spending
her
ten
thousand." "What
is
your
motive
for
such
benevolence?"
asked
Raskolnikov. "Ah!
you
sceptical person!" laughed Svidrigaďlov. "I
told
you
I had
no
need
of
that
money. Won't
you
admit
that
it's simply
done
from
humanity?
She
wasn't 'a louse,'
you
know" (he pointed
to
the
corner
where
the
dead
woman
lay), "was she,
like
some
old
pawnbroker woman? Come, you'll agree,
is
Luzhin
to
go
on
living,
and
doing
wicked
things
or
is
she
to
die?
And
if
I didn't
help
them, Polenka
would
go
the
same
way."
He
said
this
with
an
air
of
a
sort
of
gay
winking
slyness,
keeping
his
eyes
fixed
on
Raskolnikov,
who
turned
white
and
cold, hearing
his
own
phrases, spoken
to
Sonia.
He
quickly
stepped
back
and
looked
wildly
at
Svidrigaďlov. "How
do
you
know?"
he
whispered,
hardly
able
to
breathe. "Why, I
lodge
here
at
Madame
Resslich's,
the
other
side
of
the
wall.
Here
is
Kapernaumov,
and
there
lives
Madame
Resslich,
an
old
and
devoted
friend
of
mine. I
am
a neighbour." "You?" "Yes,"
continued
Svidrigaďlov, shaking
with
laughter. "I
assure
you
on
my honour,
dear
Rodion Romanovitch,
that
you
have
interested
me
enormously. I
told
you
we
should
become
friends, I foretold it. Well,
here
we
have.
And
you
will
see
what
an
accommodating
person
I am. You'll
see
that
you
can
get
on
with
me!"