And, almost weeping herself (which did not hinder her constant, incessant pattering), she pointed to the whimpering children. Raskolnikov tried to persuade her to go back, and even said, hoping to touch her vanity, that it was not proper for her to walk the streets as organ-grinders do, since she was preparing to be the directress of an institute for noble girls . . .

“An institute, ha, ha, ha! Castles in Spain!” cried Katerina Ivanovna, her laughter followed immediately by a fit of coughing. “No, Rodion Romanych, the dream is over! Everyone's abandoned us! And that runt of a general. . . You know, Rodion Romanych, I flung an inkpot at him—it just happened to be standing there, in the anteroom, on the table next to the visitors' book, so I signed my name, flung it at him, and ran away. Oh, vile, vile men! But spit on them; I'll feed mine myself now, I won't bow to anybody! We've tormented her enough.” (She pointed to Sonya.) “Polechka, how much have we collected, show me! What? Just two kopecks? Oh, the villains! They don't give anything, they just run after us with their tongues hanging out! Now, what's that blockhead laughing at?” (She pointed to a man in the crowd.) “It's all because Kolka here is so slow-witted; he's a nuisance! What do you want, Polechka? Speak French to me, parlez-moi français. I've been teaching you, you know several phrases! ... Otherwise how can they tell you're educated children, from a noble family, and not at all like the rest of the organ-grinders; we're not putting on some 'Petrushka' in the street,^[125] we'll sing them a proper romance...Ah, yes! What are we going to sing? You keep interrupting me, and we...you see, Rodion Romanych, we stopped here to choose what to sing—something Kolya can also dance to... because, can you imagine, we haven't prepared anything; we must decide and rehearse it all perfectly, then we'll go to the Nevsky Prospect, where there are many more people of high society, and we'll be noticed at once: Lenya knows 'The Little Farm'...Only it's always 'The Little Farm,' the same 'Little Farm,' everybody sings it! We ought to sing something much more noble...Well, what have you come up with, Polya, you could at least help your mother! Memory, my memory's gone, or I'd have remembered something! We can't sing 'A Hussar Leaning on His Sabre,' really! Ah, let's sing 'Cinq sous' in French. I taught it to you, I know I did. And the main thing is that it's in French, so people will see at once that you're a nobleman's children, and it will be much more moving... Or why not even 'Malborough s'en va-t-en guerre,'^[126] because it's a perfect children's song and they use it as a lullaby in aristocratic houses. 'Malborougb s'en va-t-en guerre, Ne sait quand reviendra...'“ She began singing... “But no, better 'Cinq sous'! Now, Kolya, put your hands on your hips, quickly, and you, Lenya, turn around, too, the opposite way, and Polechka and I will sing and clap along! 'Cinq sous, cinq sous, Pour monter notre ménage...'^[127] Hem, hem, hem!” (And she went off into a fit of coughing.) “Straighten your dress, Polechka, the shoulders are slipping down,” she remarked through her coughing, gasping for breath. “You must behave especially properly and on a fine footing now, so that everyone can see you're noble children. I said then that the bodice ought to be cut longer and made from two lengths. It's all you and your advice, Sonya: 'Shorter, shorter'—and as a result the child's completely disfigured...Ah, what's all this crying, stupid children! Well, Kolya, start, quickly, quickly, quickly—oh, what an unbearable child! . . . 'Cinq sous, cinq sous . . .' Another soldier! Well, what do you want?”

Indeed, a policeman was forcing his way through the crowd. But at the same time a gentleman in a uniform and greatcoat, an imposing official of about fifty with an order around his neck (this last fact rather pleased Katerina Ivanovna, and was not without effect on the policeman), approached and silently gave Katerina Ivanovna a green three-rouble bill. His face expressed genuine compassion. Katerina Ivanovna accepted and bowed to him politely, even ceremoniously.

“I thank you, my dear sir,” she began haughtily. “The reasons that have prompted us... take the money, Polechka. You see, there do exist noble and magnanimous people, who are ready at once to help a poor gentlewoman in misfortune. You see before you, my dear sir, the orphans of a noble family, with, one might even say, the most aristocratic connections...And that runt of a general was sitting there eating grouse...he stamped his foot at me for bothering him...'Your Excellency,' I said, 'protect the orphans, seeing that you knew the late Semyon Zakharych so well,' I said, 'and his own daughter was slandered on the day of his death by the worst of all scoundrels . . .' That soldier again! Protect me!” she cried to the official. “Why won't that soldier leave me alone! We already ran away from one on Meshchanskaya...what business is it of yours, fool!”

“Because it's prohibited in the streets. Kindly stop this outrage.”

“You're the outrageous one! It's the same as going around with a barrel-organ. What business is it of yours?”

“Concerning a barrel-organ, a permit is required for that; and with yourself and your behavior, you're stirring people up, madam. Kindly tell me where you live.”

“What! A permit!” Katerina Ivanovna yelled. “I buried my husband today, what's this about a permit!”

“Madam, madam, calm yourself,” the official tried to begin, “come, I'll take you...It's improper here, in the crowd, you are not well . . .”

“My dear sir, my dear sir, you know nothing!” Katerina Ivanovna shouted. “We'll go to the Nevsky Prospect—Sonya, Sonya! Where is she? She's crying, too! What's the matter with you all! ... Kolya, Lenya, where are you going?” she suddenly cried out in fear. “Oh, stupid children! Kolya, Lenya, but where are they going! . . .”

It so happened that Kolya and Lenya, utterly frightened by the street crowd and the antics of their mad mother, and seeing, finally, a policeman who wanted to take them and lead them off somewhere, suddenly, as if by agreement, seized each other by the hand and broke into a run. Shouting and weeping, poor Katerina Ivanovna rushed after them. It was grotesque and pitiful to see her running, weeping, choking. Sonya and Polechka rushed after her.

“Bring them back, bring them back, Sonya! Oh, stupid, ungrateful children! ... Polya! Catch them...It's for your sake that I . . .”

She stumbled in mid-run and fell.

“She's hurt! She's bleeding! Oh, Lord!” Sonya cried out, bending over her.

Everyone came running, everyone crowded around. Raskolnikov and Lebezyatnikov were among the first to reach her; the official also came quickly, and after him came the policeman as well, having groaned, “Oh, no!” and waved his hand, anticipating that the matter was going to take a troublesome turn.

“Move on! Move on!” he drove away the people who were crowding around.

“She's dying!” someone cried.

“She's lost her mind!” said another.

“God forbid!” one woman said, crossing herself. “Did they catch the lad and the girl? Here they are, the older girl caught them...Little loonies!”

But when they looked closely at Katerina Ivanovna, they saw that she had not injured herself against the stone at all, as Sonya thought, but that the blood staining the pavement was flowing through her mouth from her chest.

“This I know, I've seen it before,” the official murmured to Raskolnikov and Lebezyatnikov. “It's consumption, sir; the blood flows out like that and chokes them. I witnessed it just recently with a relation of mine; about a glass and a half...all at once, sir...Anyway, what can we do; she's dying.”