“Ah, Lord!” cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. Raskolnikov was listening attentively.

“And it's true that you have precise information about it?” Dunya asked sternly and imposingly.

“I say only what I myself heard in confidence from the late Marfa Petrovna. It should be noted that the case is rather obscure from a legal point of view. There was living here, and I believe she still lives here, a certain foreign woman named Resslich, a small-time money-lender, and engaged in other affairs as well. Mr. Svidrigailov had long been in some sort of rather close and mysterious relations with this Resslich. She had a distant relative living with her, a niece I think, a deaf and dumb girl of about fifteen, or even fourteen, whom this Resslich hated beyond measure and reproached for every morsel; she even used to beat her brutally. One day the girl was found hanging in the attic. The verdict was suicide. After the customary proceedings, the case was closed, but later there came a report that the child had been...cruelly abused by Svidrigailov. True, it was all obscure; the report came from another woman, also a German, a notorious woman and not to be trusted; in the end, essentially, there was no report, thanks to Marfa Petrovna's efforts and money; everything confined itself to rumor. Nevertheless, this rumor was highly portentous. While there, Avdotya Romanovna, you undoubtedly also heard about a story involving the servant Filipp, who died of brutal treatment about six years ago, still in the time of serfdom.”

“I heard, on the contrary, that this Filipp hanged himself.”

“Just so, madam; but he was driven or, better, inclined towards a violent death by Mr. Svidrigailov's system of constant punishments and persecutions.”

“That I do not know,” Dunya answered dryly. “I only heard some very strange story that this Filipp was a sort of hypochondriac, a sort of homemade philosopher; they said he 'read himself up,' and that he most likely hanged himself because of Mr. Svidrigailov's mockery, and not from any beatings. He treated the servants well while I was there, and they even liked him, though they, too, indeed accused him of Filipp's death.”

“I see, Avdotya Romanovna, that you are somehow suddenly inclined to justify him,” Luzhin remarked, twisting his mouth into an ambiguous smile. “He really is a cunning and seductive man when it comes to ladies, of which Marfa Petrovna, who died so strangely, serves as a lamentable example. I merely wanted to be of service to you and your mother with my advice, in view of his new and undoubtedly forthcoming attempts. As for me, I am firmly convinced that the man will undoubtedly disappear once again into debtors' prison. Marfa Petrovna by no means ever had the slightest intention of binding anything over to him, having her children to consider, and if she did leave him anything, it is only the most necessary, of little worth, ephemeral, not enough to last a man of his habits for even a year.”

“Pyotr Petrovich, I beg you,” said Dunya, “let us stop talking about Mr. Svidrigailov. It makes me weary.”

“He just came to see me,” Raskolnikov suddenly said, breaking his silence for the first time.

There were exclamations on all sides; everyone turned to him. Even Pyotr Petrovich became excited.

“About an hour and a half ago, while I was sleeping, he came in, woke me up, and introduced himself,” Raskolnikov continued. “He was rather offhand and cheerful, and fully hopes I will become close with him. By the way, he very much begs and seeks to meet with you, Dunya, and has asked me to be an intermediary at this meeting. He has an offer for you; he told me what it was. Moreover, he informed me positively that Marfa Petrovna managed, a week before her death, to make a bequest of three thousand roubles to you, Dunya, and that now you will be able to have the money in the very nearest future.”

“Thank God!” Pulcheria Alexandrovna cried out, and she crossed herself. “Pray for her, Dunya, pray for her!”

“That is actually true,” escaped from Luzhin.

“Well, well, what else?” Dunya hurried.

“Then he said that he himself was not rich, that all the property would go to his children, who are now with their aunt. Then, that he was staying somewhere not far from me, but where, I don't know, I didn't ask . . .”

“But what, what does he want to offer Dunechka?” Pulcheria Alexandrovna asked, frightened. “Did he tell you?”

“Yes, he did.”

“What is it?”

“I'll tell you later.” Raskolnikov fell silent and turned to his tea.

Pyotr Petrovich took out his watch and looked at it.

“I must go and attend to some business, and thus will not be in your way,” he added, looking somewhat piqued, and he began to rise from his chair.

“Do stay, Pyotr Petrovich,” said Dunya. “You were planning to spend the evening. Besides, you yourself wrote that you wished to talk with mama about something.”

“Just so, Avdotya Romanovna,” Pyotr Petrovich said imposingly, taking his seat again, but still holding his hat in his hand. “Indeed, I wanted to talk both with you and with your most respected mother, and even about some quite important points. However, just as your brother is unable to speak in my presence concerning certain offers from Mr. Svidrigailov, so I am unwilling and unable to speak...in the presence of others...concerning certain quite, quite important points. Furthermore, my capital and most urgent request has not been fulfilled...”

Luzhin assumed a bitter expression and lapsed into dignified silence.

“Your request that my brother not be present at our meeting was not fulfilled solely at my insistence,” said Dunya. “You wrote that my brother had insulted you; I think that this ought to be explained at once, and that you should make peace. And if Rodya did indeed insult you, he must and will ask your forgiveness.”

Pyotr Petrovich immediately showed his mettle.

“There are certain insults, Avdotya Romanovna, which, for all one's good will, cannot be forgotten. There is a line in all things that it is dangerous to step over; for once one steps over, it is impossible to go back.”

“As a matter of fact, Pyotr Petrovich, that is not what I was talking about,” Dunya interrupted a little impatiently. “Do try to understand that our whole future depends on whether all this can or cannot be clarified and settled as soon as possible. I tell you outright, from the first word, that I cannot look upon it any other way, and if you value me at all, then, hard as it may be, this whole story must end today. I repeat that if my brother is at fault, he will ask your forgiveness.”

“I am surprised that you put the question in such a way, Avdotya Romanovna.” Luzhin was becoming more and more irritated. “While valuing and, so to speak, adoring you, I may at the same time quite, quite dislike someone of your household. Having claimed the happiness of your hand, I cannot at the same time take upon myself obligations incompatible with...”

“Ah, drop all this touchiness, Pyotr Petrovich,” Dunya interrupted with feeling, “and be the noble and intelligent man I have always considered and want to consider you to be. I gave you a great promise, I am your fiancée; trust me in this matter, then, and believe me capable of judging impartially. That I am taking upon myself the role of judge is as much a surprise for my brother as it is for you. When I asked him today, after receiving your letter, to be sure to come to our meeting, I told him nothing of my intentions. Understand that if you do not make peace I shall have to choose between you: either you or him. That is how the question has been put both on his side and on yours. I do not want to make a wrong choice, and I must not. For your sake, I must break with my brother; for my brother's sake, I must break with you. I can and will find out now for certain whether he is a brother to me. And, about you, whether you appreciate me, whether you value me, whether you are a husband to me.”