“Gott der Barmberzige!^[120] I just known she vas shtealing!” Amalia Ivanovna clasped her hands.

“You just knew?” Luzhin picked up. “Then you had at least some grounds for such conclusions before this. I beg you, most respected Amalia Ivanovna, to remember your words, which in any case have been spoken in front of witnesses.”

Loud talk suddenly arose on all sides. Everyone stirred.

“Wha-a-at!” Katerina Ivanovna suddenly cried, having come to her senses, and, as if tearing herself loose, she rushed at Luzhin. “What! You accuse her of stealing? Sonya? Ah, scoundrels, scoundrels!” And rushing to Sonya, she embraced her with her withered arms, as in a vise.

“Sonya! How dared you take ten roubles from him! Oh, foolish girl! Give it to me! Give me the ten roubles at once—there!”

And snatching the bill from Sonya, Katerina Ivanovna crumpled it in her hand, drew back, and hurled it violently straight into Luzhin's face. The ball of paper hit him in the eye and bounced onto the floor. Amalia Ivanovna rushed to pick up the money. Pyotr Petrovich became angry.

“Restrain this madwoman!” he shouted.

At that moment several more faces appeared in the doorway beside Lebezyatnikov; the two visiting ladies were among those peeking in.

“What! Mad? Mad, am I? Fool!” shrieked Katerina Ivanovna. “You, you're a fool, a pettifogger, a base man! Sonya, Sonya take his money? Sonya a thief? Why, she'd sooner give you money, fool!” And Katerina Ivanovna laughed hysterically. “Have you ever seen such a fool?” she was rushing in all directions, pointing out Luzhin to them all. “What! And you, too?” she noticed the landlady. “You're in it, too, you sausage-maker! You, too, claim that she 'vas shtealing,' you vile Prussian chicken-leg in a crinoline! Ah, you! ... you! But she hasn't even left the room; as soon as she came from seeing you, you scoundrel, she sat down at once just beside Rodion Romanovich! ... Search her! Since she hasn't gone anywhere, it means the money must still be on her! Search, then, go ahead and search! Only if you don't find anything, then, excuse me, my dear, but you'll answer for it! To the sovereign, the sovereign, I'll run to the merciful tsar himself, I'll throw myself at his feet, now, today! I'm an orphan! They'll let me in! You think they won't let me in? Lies! I'll get there! I will! Was it her meekness you were counting on? Were you hoping for that? But I'm perky enough myself, brother! You won't pull it off! Search, then! Search, search, go ahead and search!”

And Katerina Ivanovna, in a frenzy, tugged at Luzhin, pulling him towards Sonya.

“I'm prepared to, and I'll answer for it... but calm yourself, madam, calm yourself! I see only too well how perky you are! ... But it...it...you see, ma'am,” Luzhin muttered, “the police ought to be present. . . though, anyway, there are more than enough witnesses as it is...I'm prepared to...But in any case it's embarrassing for a man...by reason of his sex...If Amalia Ivanovna were to help...though, anyway, it's not how things are done...You see, ma'am?”

“Anyone you like! Let anyone you like search her!” cried Katerina Ivanovna. “Sonya, turn your pockets out for them! There, there! Look, monster, this one's empty, the handkerchief was in it, the pocket's empty, see? Here, here's the other one! See, see?”

And Katerina Ivanovna did not so much turn as yank the pockets inside out, one after the other. But from the second, the right-hand pocket, a piece of paper suddenly flew out and, describing a parabola in the air, fell at Luzhin's feet. Everyone saw it; many cried out. Pyotr Petrovich bent down, picked up the paper from the floor with two fingers, held it aloft for everyone to see, and unfolded it. It was a hundred-rouble bill, folded in eight. Pyotr Petrovich made a circle with his hand, showing the bill all around.

“Thief! Out from the apartment! Politz! Politz!” screamed Amalia Ivanovna. “They should to Tsiberia be chased! Out!”

Exclamations came flying from all sides. Raskolnikov was silent, not taking his eyes off Sonya, but from time to time shifting them quickly to Luzhin. Sonya stood where she was, as if unconscious; she was almost not even surprised. Color suddenly rushed to her cheeks; she uttered a short cry and covered her face with her hands.

“No, it wasn't me! I didn't take it! I don't know anything!” she cried in a heart-rending wail, and rushed to Katerina Ivanovna, who seized her and pressed her hard to herself, as if wishing to shield her from everyone with her own breast.

“Sonya! Sonya! I don't believe them! You see I don't believe them!” Katerina Ivanovna cried (in spite of all the obviousness), rocking her in her arms like a child, giving her countless kisses, catching her hands and simply devouring them with kisses. “As if you could take anything! What stupid people they all are! Oh, Lord! You're stupid, stupid,” she cried, addressing them all, “you still don't know what a heart she has, what a girl she is! As if she would take anything! Why, she'd strip off her last dress and sell it, and go barefoot, and give everything to you if you needed it—that's how she is! She got a yellow pass because my children were perishing from hunger, she sold herself for us! ...  Ah, husband, husband! Ah, my poor, dead husband! Do you see? Do you see? Here's your memorial meal! Lord! But defend her! Why are you all standing there! Rodion Romanovich! Why don't you take her part? Do you believe it, too? None of you is worth her little finger, none of you, none, none, none! Lord, defend us finally!”

The cries of the poor, consumptive, bereaved Katerina Ivanovna seemed to produce a strong effect on the public. There was so much pathos, so much suffering in her withered, consumptive face, contorted by pain, in her withered lips flecked with blood, in her hoarsely crying voice, in her sobbing, so much like a child's, in her trusting, childlike, and at the same time desperate plea for defense, that they all seemed moved to pity the unfortunate woman. Pyotr Petrovich, at least, was immediately moved to pity.

“Madam! Madam!” he exclaimed in an imposing voice. “This fact does not concern you! No one would dare accuse you of any intent or complicity, the less so since you discovered it yourself by turning her pockets out: consequently you suspected nothing. I'm quite, quite prepared to show pity if poverty, so to speak, was also what drove Sofya Semyonovna to it, but why is it, mademoiselle, that you did not want to confess? Fear of disgrace? The first step? Or perhaps you felt at a loss? It's understandable; it's quite understandable...But, in any case, how could you get yourself into such qualities! Gentlemen!” he addressed everyone present, “gentlemen! Pitying and, so to speak, commiserating, I am perhaps ready to forgive, even now, in spite of the personal insults I have received. May this present shame serve you, mademoiselle, as a lesson for the future,” he turned to Sonya, “the rest I shall let pass, and so be it, I have done. Enough!”

Pyotr Petrovich gave Raskolnikov a sidelong look. Their glances met. Raskolnikov's burning eyes were ready to reduce him to ashes. Katerina Ivanovna, meanwhile, seemed not even to be listening anymore; she was madly embracing and kissing Sonya. The children also took hold of Sonya from all sides with their little arms, and Polechka— though without quite understanding what was the matter—seemed all drowned in tears, choking back her sobs and hiding her pretty little face, swollen with weeping, on Sonya's shoulder.

“How vile!” a loud voice suddenly came from the doorway.

Pyotr Petrovich quickly turned around.

“What vileness!” Lebezyatnikov repeated, staring him straight in the eye.

Pyotr Petrovich even seemed to give a start. Everyone noticed it. (They remembered it afterwards.) Lebezyatnikov took a step into the room.