“Stop, stop your mean, vile anecdotes, you depraved, mean, sensual man!”

“Look at our Schiller, what a Schiller, just look at him! Vù va-t-elle la vertu se nicher?^[142]And you know, I'll go on telling you such things on purpose, just to hear your little outcries. Delightful!”

“Isn't it! And do you think I don't seem ludicrous to myself right now?” Raskolnikov muttered spitefully.

Svidrigailov was roaring with laughter; finally he called for Filipp, paid, and began getting up. “Oh, am I drunk! Assez causé!”^[143] he said. “Delightful!”

“What else but delightful,” Raskolnikov exclaimed, also getting up. “Of course it's delightful for a played-out profligate to tell about such adventures—with some monstrous intention of the same sort in mind—and under such circumstances besides, and to such a man as me...Quite arousing.”

“Well, in that case,” Svidrigailov replied, even with some surprise, scrutinizing Raskolnikov, “in that case, you're rather a cynic yourself. Anyway, you've got enormous material in you. You can understand a lot, quite a lot. . . well, and you can also do a lot. Well, but enough. I sincerely regret having talked so little with you, but you won't get away from me...Just wait . . .”

Svidrigailov left the tavern. Raskolnikov walked out after him. Svidrigailov was not very drunk, however; it had gone to his head only momentarily, and the drunkenness was passing off every minute. He was very preoccupied with something, something very important, and was frowning. Some prospect obviously worried and troubled him. In the past few minutes he had also somehow suddenly changed towards Raskolnikov, had become more rude and mocking. Raskolnikov noticed all this and was also alarmed. Svidrigailov became very suspicious to him; he decided to follow him.

They went down to the sidewalk.

“You go right, and I'll go left, or perhaps vice versa, only—adieu, mon plaisir,^[144] see you—gladly—soon!”

And he turned right, towards the Haymarket.

V

Raskolnikov walked behind him. “What's the meaning of this!” Svidrigailov exclaimed, turning around. “I believe I said . . .”

“It means that I'm not going to leave you alone right now.”

“Wha-a-at?”

The two men stopped and looked at each other for a minute or so, as if sizing each other up.

“From all your half-drunken stories,” Raskolnikov snapped sharply, “I've positively concluded that you not only have not abandoned your most vile designs on my sister, but are even more occupied with them than ever. It is known to me that my sister received some sort of letter this morning. You were unable to sit still all this while...Suppose you did dig yourself up some wife along the way; it means nothing. I wish personally to make sure...”

Raskolnikov himself could hardly have said precisely what he wanted now, or precisely what he wished personally to make sure of.

“Is that so! And would you like me to call the police right now?”

“Go ahead!”

Again they stood facing each other for a minute. Finally, Svidrigailov's expression changed. Having assured himself that Raskolnikov was not afraid of the threat, he suddenly assumed a most cheerful and friendly look.

“Aren't you the one! I purposely did not start talking with you about your affair, though naturally I'm eaten up with curiosity. It's a fantastic affair. I tried to put it off until next time, but, really, you could even rouse a dead man...Well, come along, only I'll tell you beforehand that I'm only going home for a moment, to pick up some money; then I'll lock the apartment, take a carriage, and go off to the Islands for the whole evening. Well, do you think you're going to follow me?”

“To the apartment, for the moment; not yours but Sofya Semyonovna's, to apologize for not being at the funeral.”

“Do as you please, but Sofya Semyonovna isn't home. She took all the children to a certain lady, an aristocratic old lady, a former acquaintance of mine from the old days, who is the patroness of some orphanages. I charmed the lady by paying the fees for all three of Katerina Ivanovna's younglings and donating money to the institutions as well; finally, I told her Sofya Semyonovna's story, with full honors, not concealing anything. The effect was indescribable. That's why Sofya Semyonovna had an appointment to go straight to the ------y Hotel, where this lady is temporarily present, after her summer house.”

“No matter, I'll still come.”

“As you wish, only I'm no part of it; it's nothing to me! Here's the house. Tell me, am I right that you look at me suspiciously because I myself have been so delicate all along and haven't bothered you with any questions...you understand? It seems a remarkable thing to you, I'll bet on it! Well, so much for being delicate!”

“And eavesdropping at doors!”

“Ah, so it's that now!” Svidrigailov laughed. “Yes, I'd be surprised if you let that go unnoticed, after all that's happened. Ha, ha! I did catch something about your antics that time...there...which you were telling to Sofya Semyonovna, but still, what does it mean? Perhaps I'm a thoroughly backward man and unable to understand anything. Explain, my dear, for God's sake! Enlighten me with the latest principles.”

“You couldn't have heard anything; it's all lies!”

“I don't mean that, not that (though I did hear a thing or two all the same), no, what I mean is that you keep moaning and groaning all the time! Schiller is constantly being embarrassed in you. And now I'm told that one can't eavesdrop at doors. In that case, go and tell the authorities; say thus and so, I've had this mishap: there was a little mistake in my theory. But if you're convinced that one cannot eavesdrop at doors, but can go around whacking old crones with whatever comes to hand, to your heart's content, then leave quickly for America somewhere! Flee, young man! Maybe there's still time. I say it sincerely. Are you out of money or something? I'll give you enough for the trip.”

“That's not at all what I'm thinking about,” Raskolnikov interrupted with loathing.

“I understand (don't trouble yourself, by the way: you needn't say much if you don't want to); I understand what sort of questions are in vogue with you: moral ones, right? Questions of the citizen and the human being? Forget them; what do you need them for now? Heh, heh! Is it because you're still a citizen and a human being? But in that case you shouldn't have butted into this; there's no point in tackling business that isn't yours. So, shoot yourself; or what, you don't want to?”

“You seem to be taunting me on purpose so that I'll leave you alone now . . .”

“What an odd man! But we're already here, welcome to the stairs. See, there's Sofya Semyonovna's door; look, no one's home! You don't believe me? Ask Kapernaumov; she leaves them the key. Here's Madame de Kapernaumov herself, eh? What? (She's a bit deaf.) Gone out? Where? Well, did you hear now? She's not in, and may not be back until late in the evening. Well, let's go to my place now. Didn't you want to go there, too? So, here we are, at my place. Madame Resslich isn't home. The woman is eternally bustling about, but she's a good woman, I assure you...she might be of use to you, if you were a little more reasonable. Well, now observe if you please: I take this five percent note from the bureau (see how many I've got left!), but this one's going to the money-changer's today. Well, did you see? No point in losing more time. The bureau is being locked, the apartment is being locked, and we're on the stairs again. Well, do you want us to hire a carriage? Because I'm off to the Islands. Would you like to go for a ride? Look, I'm taking this carriage to Yelagin Island. What? You refuse? Can't keep it up? Never mind, let's go for a ride. Looks like it may rain; never mind, we'll raise the top . . .”