This last claim was so much in Pyotr Petrovich's character that Raskolnikov, who was growing pale from wrath and from his efforts to contain it, suddenly could not help himself and—burst out laughing. But Pulcheria Alexandrovna lost her temper:
“Expenses? What expenses? You're not talking about our trunk! But the conductor delivered it for nothing! Lord, and it's we who bound you! Come to your senses, Pyotr Petrovich; it is you who have bound us hand and foot, and not we you!”
“Enough, mama, please, enough!” Avdotya Romanovna pleaded. “Pyotr Petrovich, kindly leave!”
“I shall leave, madam, but just one last word!” he said, now losing almost all control of himself. “Your mother seems to have entirely forgotten that I decided to take you, so to speak, after a town rumor concerning your good name had spread throughout the neighborhood. Disregarding public opinion for your sake, and restoring your good name, I could quite, quite certainly hope for some retribution, and even demand your gratitude...And only now have my eyes been opened! I see myself that I perhaps acted quite, quite rashly in disregarding the public voice . . .”
“What, is he queer in the head or something?” cried Razumikhin, jumping up from his chair and preparing himself for reprisals.
“Mean and wicked man that you are!” said Dunya.
“Not a word! Not a gesture!” cried Raskolnikov, holding Razumikhin back; then, going up to Luzhin almost point-blank:
“Be so good as to get out!” he said, softly and distinctly. “And not a word more, or else . . .”
Pyotr Petrovich looked at him for a few seconds, his face pale and twisted with spite, then turned and went out; and rarely, of course, has anyone carried away so much spiteful hatred in his heart as this man felt for Raskolnikov. He blamed him, and him alone, for everything. Remarkably, as he was going down the stairs, he still imagined that the case was perhaps not lost at all, and, as far as the ladies alone were concerned, was even “quite, quite” remediable.
III
The main thing was that, until the very last moment, he had in no way expected such a denouement. He had stood on his mettle to the last limit, without supposing even the possibility that the two poor and defenseless women could get out from under his power. Vanity contributed much to this conviction, as did that degree of self-confidence which is best called self-admiration. Having risen from insignificance, Pyotr Petrovich had a morbid habit of admiring himself, highly valued his intelligence and abilities, and sometimes, alone with himself, even admired his own face in the mirror. But most of all in the world he loved and valued his money, acquired by labor and various means: it made him equal to all that was higher than himself. In bitterly reminding Dunya just now that he had decided to take her in spite of the bad rumors about her, Pyotr Petrovich had spoken quite sincerely, and even felt deeply indignant at such “black ingratitude.” And yet, when he was proposing to Dunya, he had already been fully convinced of the absurdity of all this gossip, universally refuted by Marfa Petrovna and long since dropped by the whole little town, which ardently vindicated Dunya. And he himself would not have denied now that he knew all that at the time. Nevertheless, he still valued highly his determination to elevate Dunya to himself, and regarded it as a great deed. In reprimanding Dunya about it just now, he had given voice to a secret, cherished thought of his, which he had already admired more than once, and was unable to understand how others could fail to admire his great deed. When he had gone to visit Raskolnikov the other day, he had entered with the feeling of a benefactor ready to reap his harvest and listen to the sweetest compliments. And now, going down the stairs, he most certainly considered himself offended and unacknowledged in the highest degree.
As for Dunya, she was simply necessary for him; it was unthinkable for him to renounce her. For a long time, for several years already, he had been having delectable dreams of marriage, but he kept hoarding up money and waited. In deepest secret, he entertained rapturous thoughts of a well-behaved and poor girl (she must be poor), very young, very pretty, well born and educated, very intimidated, who had experienced a great many misfortunes and was utterly cowed before him, a girl who would all her life regard him as her salvation, stand in awe of him, obey him, wonder at him and at him alone. How many scenes, how many delectable episodes he had created in imagination on this playful and seductive theme, as he rested quietly from his affairs! And now the dream of so many years was almost coming true: the beauty and education of Avdotya Romanovna struck him; her helpless position aroused him in the extreme. Here was something even a bit more than he had dreamed of: here was a proud, unusual, virtuous girl, superior to him in education and upbringing (that he could feel), and such a being would be slavishly grateful to him all her life for his great deed, and would reverently efface herself before him, and he—he would rule boundlessly and absolutely! ... As if by design, shortly before then, after much anticipation and deliberation, he had at last decided finally to change his career and enter a wider sphere of activity, and, with that, to move little by little into higher society, the thought of which he had long been savoring. In short, he had decided to try Petersburg. He knew that here women could be “quite, quite” beneficial. The charm of a lovely, virtuous, and educated woman could do wonders to smooth his path, attract certain people, create an aura...and now it had all collapsed! This present, ugly breakup affected him like a bolt of lightning. It was some ugly joke, an absurdity! He had only shown his mettle a tiny bit; he had not even had time to speak himself out; he was merely joking, got carried away, and it ended so seriously! Finally, he had even come to love Dunya in his own way; he was already her master in his dreams—and suddenly! ... No! Tomorrow, tomorrow at the latest, all this must be restored, healed, set right, and above all—this presumptuous brat, this youngster who was the cause of it all, must be destroyed. With a painful feeling he also somehow involuntarily remembered Razumikhin...however, he soon set himself at ease in that regard: “This is the last person who could be held up to him!” Indeed, if there was anyone he was seriously afraid of, it was—Svidrigailov...In short, many troubles lay ahead of him.......................................
“No, it's my fault most of all!” Dunechka was saying, embracing and kissing her mother. “I was tempted by his money, but I swear, brother—I never imagined he could be such an unworthy man. If I had seen through him sooner, I would never have been tempted! Don't blame me, brother!”
“God has delivered us! God has delivered us!” Pulcheria Alexandrovna muttered, but somehow unconsciously, as if she had not quite made sense of all that had happened.
They were all rejoicing; in five minutes they were even laughing. Only Dunechka occasionally became pale and knitted her brows, thinking back on what had happened. Pulcheria Alexandrovna would never have imagined that she, too, could be so glad; even that morning a breakup with Luzhin had seemed to her a terrible disaster. But Razumikhin was in ecstasy. He did not yet dare to express it fully, but was trembling all over as in a fever, as if a two-hundred-pound weight had fallen off his heart. Now he had the right to give his whole life to them, to serve them . .. And who knew what then! However, he drove all further thoughts away still more timorously, and was afraid of his own imagination. Only Raskolnikov went on sitting in the same place, almost sullen, even distracted. He who had insisted most on Luzhin's removal, now seemed to be the least interested in what had happened. Dunya thought unwillingly that he was still very angry with her, and Pulcheria Alexandrovna kept looking at him fearfully.