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V

Raskolnikov followed him.

"What's this!" cried Svidrigailov, turning around. "I thought I said..."

"It means that I won't leave you alone now."

"Wha-a-at?"

Both stopped, and for a minute they stared at each other, as if taking each other's measure.

"From all your half-drunken stories," Raskolnikov said sharply, "I have concluded positively that you have not only not abandoned your vilest designs on my sister, but are even more occupied with them than ever. I know that this morning my sister received some sort of letter. You couldn't sit still the whole time... You may have dug up some wife along the way, granted; but that means nothing. I wish to satisfy myself personally..."

Raskolnikov could hardly have defined himself what exactly he wanted now and what exactly he wished to satisfy himself about personally.

"Well now! And what if I call the police right now?"

"Go ahead and call!"

They stood facing each other again for a minute. Finally Svidrigailov's face changed. Having satisfied himself that Raskolnikov was not frightened by the threat, he suddenly assumed the most cheerful and friendly air.

"What a fellow! I deliberately didn't bring up your affair with you, though I'm naturally tormented by curiosity. A fantastic affair. I had put it off until another time, but really, you're capable of irritating a dead man... Well, let's go, but I'll tell you in advance: I'm only going home for a minute to get some money; then I'm locking up the apartment, taking a cab, and spending the whole evening on the Islands. So where would you follow me?"

"For now I'm coming to the apartment, but not to yours—to Sofya Semyonovna's, to apologize for not being at the funeral."

"As you like, but Sofya Semyonovna isn't home. She's taken all three children to a certain lady, a certain elderly lady of rank, a former old acquaintance of mine who manages some orphan institutions. I charmed this lady by donating money for all three of Katerina Ivanovna's nestlings, and also contributed money to the institutions besides; finally, I told her Sofya Semyonovna's story, even with all the details, hiding nothing. The effect it produced was indescribable. That's why Sofya Semyonovna was appointed to appear today at such-and-such hotel, where my lady is temporarily staying, having come from her dacha."

"It doesn't matter, I'll stop by anyway."

"As you wish, only I won't be your companion; but what do I care! Well, here we are at home now. Tell me, I'm convinced you look at me suspiciously precisely because I've been so delicate and haven't bothered you with questions until now... you understand? It seemed extraordinary to you; I'll bet that's it! Well, that's what you get for being delicate."

"And eavesdropping at doors!"

"Ah, that's what you're on about!" Svidrigailov laughed. "Yes, I would have been surprised if, after everything, you had let that pass without remark. Ha-ha! Though I did understand something of what you... well, carried on about there and told Sofya Semyonovna yourself, still, what is all this? Perhaps I'm a completely backward man and can't understand anything anymore. Explain it, for God's sake, my dear fellow! Enlighten me with the latest principles."

"You couldn't have heard anything, you're lying about everything!"

"But I don't mean that, not that (though I did hear something, by the way), no, I mean the way you keep moaning and groaning! The Schiller in you is getting agitated every minute. And now it turns out you mustn't eavesdrop at doors. If that's the case, then go and report to the authorities that such-and-such happened to me, you see: a little mishap occurred with the theory. If you're convinced that one mustn't eavesdrop at doors, but one may bash old women with whatever comes to hand, for one's own pleasure, then you'd better go off somewhere quickly to America! Run, young man! Perhaps there's still time. I'm speaking sincerely. Is it money you lack? I'll give you money for the journey."

"I'm not thinking of that at all," Raskolnikov interrupted with disgust.

"I understand (but don't trouble yourself: you don't have to talk much if you don't want to); I understand what questions are in vogue with you: moral ones, perhaps? Questions of the citizen and man? Well, put them aside; why do you need them now? Heh-heh! Because you're still a citizen and a man? But if so, you shouldn't have gotten involved; one shouldn't take on business that's not one's own. Well, shoot yourself then; or don't you want to?"

"You seem to want to irritate me deliberately, just so I'll leave you alone now..."

"What an odd fellow! Well, here we are, come in. Welcome to the stairs. Look, here's the entrance to Sofya Semyonovna's, see, nobody's home! Don't you believe me? Ask Kapernaumov; she left the key with him. Here's Madame de Kapernaumov herself, eh? What? (She's a bit deaf.) She went out? Where? Well, did you hear now? She's not there and won't be back until late evening, perhaps. Well, now let's go to my place. You wanted to come to me too, didn't you? Well, here we are at my place. Madame Resslich isn't home. This woman is perpetually busy about something, but she's a good woman, I assure you... she might have been useful to you, if you were a bit more reasonable. Well now, kindly observe: I'm taking this five-percent bond from the bureau (see how many more I still have!), but this one is going to the money-changer's today. Well, did you see? I have no more time to waste. The bureau is locked, the apartment is locked, and we're on the stairs again. Well, shall we take a cab? I'm going to the Islands, you see. Wouldn't you like a ride? Look, I'm taking this carriage to Yelagin. What? You refuse? Can't you stand it? Come for a ride, it's nothing. I think rain is coming on, but never mind, we'll put the top down..."

Svidrigailov was already sitting in the carriage. Raskolnikov decided that his suspicions were unjust, at least at this moment. Without answering a word, he turned and walked back toward the Haymarket. If he had looked back even once along the way, he would have managed to see how, after driving no more than a hundred paces, Svidrigailov paid off the carriage and found himself on the sidewalk. But he could no longer see anything and had already turned the corner. A profound disgust drew him away from Svidrigailov. "And to think I could expect anything for even a moment from this coarse villain, this depraved sensualist and scoundrel!" he cried out involuntarily. To be sure, Raskolnikov pronounced his judgment too hastily and thoughtlessly. There was something in Svidrigailov's whole manner that at least gave him a certain originality, if not mysteriousness. As for his sister in all this, Raskolnikov remained firmly convinced that Svidrigailov would not leave her in peace. But it was becoming too heavy and unbearable to think and rethink about all this!

As was his habit, having been left alone, within twenty paces he fell into deep thought. Coming onto the bridge, he stopped by the railing and began to look at the water. And meanwhile Avdotya Romanovna was standing over him.

He had met her at the entrance to the bridge, but passed by without noticing her. Dunechka had never encountered him like this on the street before and was struck almost to the point of fear. She stopped and didn't know whether to call out to him or not. Suddenly she noticed Svidrigailov hastily approaching from the direction of the Haymarket.

But he seemed to be approaching mysteriously and cautiously. He didn't come onto the bridge, but stopped to the side, on the sidewalk, trying with all his might to prevent Raskolnikov from seeing him. He had noticed Dunya long ago and began making signs to her. It seemed to her that with his signs he was entreating her not to call out to her brother and leave him in peace, but to come to him instead.

That's what Dunya did. She quietly walked past her brother and approached Svidrigailov.

"Let's go quickly," Svidrigailov whispered to her. "I don't want Rodion Romanych to know about our meeting. I warn you that I was sitting with him not far from here, in a tavern, where he sought me out himself, and I barely got rid of him. He somehow knows about my letter to you and suspects something. It certainly wasn't you who told him, was it? But if not you, then who?"

"Well, we've already turned the corner now," Dunya interrupted. "My brother won't see us now. I declare to you that I won't go any farther with you. Tell me everything here; all this can be said in the street too."

"First of all, this absolutely cannot be said in the street; secondly, you must hear Sofya Semyonovna too; thirdly, I'll show you certain documents... Well, finally, if you don't agree to come to my place, I refuse all explanations and will leave at once. Moreover, I'll ask you not to forget that an extremely curious secret of your beloved brother is completely in my hands."

Dunya stopped in indecision and looked at Svidrigailov with a piercing gaze.

"What are you afraid of!" he observed calmly. "The city isn't the countryside. And in the countryside you did me more harm than I did you, and here..."

"Has Sofya Semyonovna been warned?"

"No, I haven't said a word to her and I'm not even completely sure she's home now. However, probably she is. She buried her relative today: it's not a day for paying calls. For the time being I don't want to tell anyone about this and even partly regret having told you. The slightest indiscretion here amounts to a denunciation. I live right here, in this building, here we are approaching it. Here's our building's caretaker; the caretaker knows me very well; look, he's bowing; he sees that I'm walking with a lady and has certainly already noticed your face, and that will be useful to you if you're very frightened and suspect me. Forgive me for speaking so crudely. I myself rent from tenants. Sofya Semyonovna lives next door to me, wall to wall, also renting. The whole floor is rented out. Why should you be afraid, like a child? Or am I really so terrible?"

Svidrigailov's face twisted into an indulgent smile; but he was no longer in the mood for smiling. His heart was pounding and his breath caught in his chest. He deliberately spoke louder to hide his growing agitation; but Dunya hadn't managed to notice this particular agitation; she was too irritated by his remark that she was afraid of him like a child and that he was so terrible to her.

"Though I know you're a man... without honor, I'm not the least bit afraid of you. Go ahead," she said, apparently calmly, but her face was very pale.

Svidrigailov stopped at Sonya's apartment.

"Allow me to inquire whether she's home. No, she's not. Bad luck! But I know she may come very soon. If she went out, it was only to see a certain lady about her orphans. Their mother died. I also got involved there and made arrangements. If Sofya Semyonovna doesn't return within ten minutes, I'll send her to you myself today, if you like; well, here's my number. Here are my two rooms. Behind the door lives my landlady, Mrs. Resslich. Now look here, I'll show you my main documents: from my bedroom this door here leads to two completely empty rooms that are rented out. Here they are... you need to look at this somewhat carefully..."

Svidrigailov occupied two furnished, rather spacious rooms. Dunechka looked around distrustfully but noticed nothing special either in the furnishings or in the arrangement of the rooms, though there was something to notice—for example, that Svidrigailov's apartment was somehow situated between two almost uninhabited apartments. The entrance to his place was not directly from the corridor, but through two of the landlady's rooms, which were almost empty. From Svidrigailov's bedroom, unlocking a door that was locked with a key, he showed Dunechka another empty apartment that was also for rent. Dunechka stopped at the threshold, not understanding why she was being invited to look, but Svidrigailov hastened to explain:

"Look here, into this second large room. Notice this door, it's locked with a key. By the door stands a chair, just one chair in both rooms. I brought it from my apartment to listen more conveniently. Right there behind the door stands Sofya Semyonovna's table; she sat there talking with Rodion Romanych. And I sat here eavesdropping, on the chair, two evenings in a row, about two hours each time—and surely I was able to learn something, don't you think?"

"You eavesdropped?"

"Yes, I eavesdropped; now let's go to my place; there's nowhere to sit here."

He led Avdotya Romanovna back to his first room, which served as his parlor, and invited her to sit on a chair. He sat down at the other end of the table, at least two yards away from her, but probably in his eyes there already blazed the same flame that had once so frightened Dunechka. She shuddered and once again looked around distrustfully. The gesture was involuntary; she evidently didn't want to show her distrust. But the isolated position of Svidrigailov's apartment finally struck her. She wanted to ask whether at least his landlady was home, but she didn't ask... out of pride. Moreover, there was another, incomparably greater suffering than fear for herself in her heart. She was suffering unbearably.

"Here's your letter," she began, placing it on the table. "Can what you write be possible? You hint at a crime supposedly committed by my brother. You hint too clearly, you don't dare deny it now. Know that I heard about this foolish tale before you and don't believe a word of it. It's a vile and ridiculous suspicion. I know the story and how and why it was invented. You cannot have any proof. You promised to prove it: speak then! But know in advance that I don't believe you! I don't believe you!..."

Dunechka said this hurriedly, and for a moment the color rushed to her face.

"If you didn't believe it, could it really have happened that you risked coming to me alone? Why did you come? Out of curiosity alone?"

"Don't torment me, speak, speak!"

"There's no denying you're a brave girl. By God, I thought you'd ask Mr. Razumikhin to accompany you here. But he wasn't with you or anywhere around you, I did look: that's bold, you wanted to spare Rodion Romanych, it means. However, everything about you is divine... As for your brother, what shall I tell you? You saw him yourself just now. How did he seem?"

"You're not basing this on that alone?"

"No, not on that, but on his own words. He came here to Sofya Semyonovna two evenings in a row. I showed you where they sat. He made a full confession to her. He's a murderer. He killed an old woman, a civil servant's widow, a moneylender, with whom he himself used to pawn things; he also killed her sister, a trader named Lizaveta, who came in accidentally during the murder of her sister. He killed them both with an axe he brought with him. He killed them in order to rob them, and he did rob them; he took money and various things... He told all this word for word to Sofya Semyonovna, who alone knows the secret, but took no part in the murder either in word or deed, but on the contrary was horrified just as you are now. Rest assured, she won't betray him."

"This cannot be!" Dunya murmured with pale, dead lips; she was gasping for breath. "It cannot be, there's no reason, not the slightest cause, no motive... It's a lie! A lie!"

"He robbed her, that's the whole reason. He took money and things. True, by his own admission, he made no use of either the money or the things, but hid them somewhere under a stone, where they still lie. But that's because he didn't dare make use of them."

"But is it likely he could steal, rob? That he could even think of it!" cried Dunya, and she jumped up from her chair. "Why, you know him, you've seen him? Can he be a thief?"

She was almost pleading with Svidrigailov; she had completely forgotten all her fear.

"There are thousands and millions of combinations and arrangements here, Avdotya Romanovna. A thief steals, but at least he knows about himself that he's a scoundrel; but I've heard about one honorable man who robbed the mail; who knows, perhaps he really thought he was doing a decent thing! Of course, I wouldn't have believed it myself, just like you, if I'd been told secondhand. But I believed my own ears. He explained all his reasons to Sofya Semyonovna too; but at first she didn't believe her ears either, but finally believed her own eyes, her very own eyes. He told her personally himself."

"What... reasons!"

"It's a long story, Avdotya Romanovna. Here there's, how shall I put it to you, a sort of theory, the same sort of thing by which I find, for instance, that a single evil deed is permissible if the main goal is good. A single evil and a hundred good deeds! Of course, it's also offensive for a young man with merits and with inordinate self-esteem to know that if he had, say, just three thousand, his whole career, his whole future in life would be formed differently, but meanwhile he doesn't have those three thousand. Add to this the irritation from hunger, from cramped quarters, from rags, from a vivid consciousness of the beauty of his social position, and at the same time the position of his sister and mother. Above all vanity, pride and vanity, though God knows, perhaps there were good inclinations too... I'm not blaming him, don't think that, please; and it's not my business anyway. Then there was also a certain little theory of his own—sort of a theory—according to which people are divided, you see, into material and special people, that is, such people for whom, because of their high position, the law is not written, but on the contrary, who themselves make laws for the rest of people, for the material, for the trash. It's nothing, just a little theory; une théorie comme une autre. Napoleon fascinated him terribly, that is, specifically what fascinated him was that very many men of genius paid no attention to isolated evil deeds, but stepped over them without thinking. He, it seems, imagined that he too was a man of genius—that is, he was certain of it for a time. He suffered greatly and still suffers from the thought that though he could devise the theory, he's not in a position to step over without thinking, which means he's not a man of genius. Well, but that's humiliating for a young man with self-esteem, especially in our age..."

"And remorse of conscience? So you deny him any moral feeling? Is he really like that?"

"Ah, Avdotya Romanovna, everything is confused now, that is, however, it was never in any particular order. Russian people in general are broad people, Avdotya Romanovna, broad like their land, and extremely inclined to the fantastic, to disorder; but the trouble is being broad without any particular genius. And do you remember how much we talked about this very thing and on this very theme, the two of us together, sitting in the evenings on the terrace in the garden after supper. You even reproached me specifically for this broadness. Who knows, perhaps we were talking at the very same time when he was lying here thinking his thoughts. You know, in our educated society there are no sacred traditions, Avdotya Romanovna: at best someone cobbles something together for himself somehow from books... or extracts something from the chronicles. But those are mostly scholars and, you know, in their own way they're all blockheads, so it's even unseemly for a man of the world. However, you know my opinions in general; I definitely blame no one. I'm an idler myself and hold to that. But we've talked about this more than once. I even had the happiness of interesting you with my judgments... You're very pale, Avdotya Romanovna!"

"I know that theory of his. I read his article in a journal about people to whom everything is permitted... Razumikhin brought it to me..."

"Mr. Razumikhin? An article by your brother? In a journal? Is there such an article? I didn't know. It must be curious! But where are you going, Avdotya Romanovna?"

"I want to see Sofya Semyonovna," Dunechka said in a weak voice. "How do I get to her place? She may have come back; I absolutely must, right now, see her. Let her..."

Avdotya Romanovna couldn't finish; her breath literally stopped.

"Sofya Semyonovna won't be back until nighttime. I suppose so. She should have come very soon, but if not, then very late..."

"Ah, so you're lying! I see... you lied... you lied about everything!.. I don't believe you! I don't believe you! I don't believe you!" Dunechka cried out in genuine frenzy, completely losing her head.

Almost in a faint, she fell onto the chair that Svidrigailov hastened to move up for her.

"Avdotya Romanovna, what's wrong with you, come to yourself! Here's water. Take a sip..."

He sprinkled water on her. Dunechka shuddered and came to.

"It had a strong effect!" Svidrigailov muttered to himself, frowning. "Avdotya Romanovna, calm yourself! Know that he has friends. We'll save him, get him out. Would you like me to take him abroad? I have money; I'll get a ticket in three days. And as for the fact that he killed, he'll still do many good deeds, so that all this will be redeemed; calm yourself. He may yet be a great man. Well, how are you? How do you feel?"

"Evil man! He's still mocking. Let me go..."

"Where? Where are you going?"

"To him. Where is he? Do you know? Why is this door locked? We came in through this door, and now it's locked with a key. When did you manage to lock it?"

"We couldn't very well shout about what we've been discussing here to all the rooms. I'm not mocking at all; I'm just tired of speaking this language. Well, where will you go like this? Or do you want to betray him? You'll drive him to madness, and he'll betray himself. Know that they're already following him, they're already on the trail. You'll only give him away. Wait: I saw him and spoke with him just now; he can still be saved. Wait, sit down, we'll think it over together. That's why I called you, to talk about this alone and think it over thoroughly. Do sit down!"

"How can you save him? Can he really be saved?"

Dunya sat down. Svidrigailov sat down beside her.

"It all depends on you, on you, on you alone," he began with sparkling eyes, almost in a whisper, stammering and even unable to pronounce some words from agitation.

Dunya drew back from him in fright. He too was trembling all over.

"You... one word from you, and he's saved! I... I'll save him. I have money and friends. I'll send him away at once, and I'll get a passport myself, two passports. One for him, the other for me. I have friends; I have practical people... Would you like it? I'll get a passport for you too... for your mother... what do you need Razumikhin for? I love you too... I love you infinitely. Let me kiss the hem of your dress, let me! let me! I can't bear to hear it rustle. Tell me: do this, and I'll do it! I'll do anything. I'll do the impossible. Whatever you believe in, I'll believe in too. I'll do anything, anything! Don't look, don't look at me like that! Do you know that you're killing me..."

He was even beginning to rave. Something suddenly happened to him, as if something had suddenly struck him in the head. Dunya jumped up and rushed to the door.

"Open it! open it!" she cried through the door, calling someone and shaking the door with her hands. "Open it! Isn't there anyone?"

Svidrigailov got up and came to himself. A malicious and mocking smile slowly forced itself onto his still-trembling lips.

"There's no one home," he said quietly and deliberately. "The landlady has gone out, and you're crying out in vain: you're only upsetting yourself needlessly."

"Where's the key? Open the door at once, at once, base man!"

"I've lost the key and can't find it."

"Ah! So this is violence!" cried Dunya, turned pale as death, and rushed to a corner where she quickly barricaded herself with a small table that happened to be at hand. She didn't cry out; but she fixed her gaze on her tormentor and watchfully followed his every movement. Svidrigailov too didn't move from his spot and stood facing her at the other end of the room. He had even gained control of himself, at least outwardly. But his face was still pale. The mocking smile didn't leave it.

"You just said 'violence,' Avdotya Romanovna. If it's violence, you can judge for yourself that I've taken measures. Sofya Semyonovna isn't home; it's very far to the Kapernaumovs, five locked rooms. Finally, I'm at least twice as strong as you, and besides, I have nothing to fear, because you can't complain afterward: surely you won't want to actually betray your brother? And nobody will believe you anyway: why on earth would a girl go alone to a single man in his apartment? So even if you sacrifice your brother, you still won't prove anything: violence is very hard to prove, Avdotya Romanovna."

"Scoundrel!" Dunya whispered indignantly.

"As you like, but note, I was still only speaking hypothetically. According to my own personal conviction, you're completely right: violence is an abomination. I was only saying that you'd have absolutely nothing on your conscience, even if... even if you wanted to save your brother voluntarily, as I'm suggesting to you. You'd simply be submitting to circumstances, well, to force, finally, if we can't do without that word. Think about it: the fate of your brother and your mother is in your hands. And I will be your slave... all my life... I'll wait here..."

Svidrigailov sat down on the sofa, about eight paces from Dunya. She no longer had the slightest doubt about his unshakeable determination. Besides, she knew him...

Suddenly she took a revolver out of her pocket, cocked it, and rested her hand with the revolver on the small table. Svidrigailov jumped up.

"Aha! So that's it!" he cried in surprise, but smiling maliciously. "Well, this completely changes the course of things! You're making things much easier for me yourself, Avdotya Romanovna! But where did you get the revolver? Could it be Mr. Razumikhin? Bah! But the revolver is mine! An old acquaintance! And how I searched for it then!.. The shooting lessons in the country that I had the honor of giving you didn't go to waste after all."

"It's not your revolver, but Marfa Petrovna's, whom you killed, villain! There was nothing of your own in her house. I took it when I began to suspect what you're capable of. Dare to take one more step, and I swear I'll kill you!"

Dunya was in a frenzy. She held the revolver at the ready.

"Well, and what about your brother? I ask out of curiosity," Svidrigailov said, still standing in place.

"Denounce me if you want! Don't move! Don't come closer! I'll shoot! You poisoned your wife, I know it, you're a murderer yourself!.."

"And are you firmly convinced that I poisoned Marfa Petrovna?"

"You did! You yourself hinted at it; you told me about poison... I know you went to get it... you had it ready... It was definitely you... scoundrel!"

"Even if that were true, it would have been because of you... you would still have been the cause."

"You're lying! I always hated you, always..."

"Oho, Avdotya Romanovna! You seem to have forgotten how in the heat of propaganda you were already yielding and melting... I saw it in your eyes; remember, in the evening, in the moonlight, when the nightingale was singing?"

"You're lying!" (Fury flashed in Dunya's eyes.) "You're lying, slanderer!"

"Lying? Well, perhaps I am lying. I lied. Women shouldn't be reminded of such things. (He smirked.) I know you'll shoot, pretty little beast. Well, go ahead and shoot!"

Dunya raised the revolver and, deathly pale, with a whitened, trembling lower lip, with large black eyes flashing like fire, looked at him, having made up her mind, measuring him and waiting for the first movement on his part. Never had he seen her so beautiful. The fire that flashed from her eyes when she raised the revolver seemed to scorch him, and his heart contracted painfully. He took a step, and a shot rang out. The bullet grazed his hair and struck the wall behind him. He stopped and laughed softly:

"The wasp stung! Aiming straight for the head... What's this? Blood!" He took out a handkerchief to wipe away the blood flowing in a thin stream down his right temple; probably the bullet had barely grazed the skin of his skull. Dunya lowered the revolver and looked at Svidrigailov not so much in fear as in some sort of wild bewilderment. It was as if she herself no longer understood what she had done and what was happening!

"Well, you missed! Shoot again, I'm waiting," Svidrigailov said quietly, still smirking but somehow darkly. "At this rate I'll have time to grab you before you cock the hammer!"

Dunechka shuddered, quickly cocked the hammer, and raised the revolver again.

"Leave me alone!" she said in despair. "I swear I'll shoot again... I'll... kill you!.."

"Well... at three paces it's impossible not to kill. But if you don't kill me... then..." His eyes sparkled, and he took two more steps.

Dunechka fired, misfire!

"You didn't load it properly. Never mind! You still have a percussion cap there. Fix it, I'll wait."

He stood before her two paces away, waiting and looking at her with wild determination, with an inflamed-passionate, heavy gaze. Dunya understood that he would sooner die than let her go. "And... and of course she'll kill him now, at two paces!.."

Suddenly she threw down the revolver.

"She threw it down!" Svidrigailov said in surprise and drew a deep breath. Something seemed to lift from his heart all at once, and perhaps not only the weight of mortal fear; indeed, he hardly felt it at this moment. It was deliverance from another, more sorrowful and gloomy feeling, which he himself couldn't have defined in all its force.

He approached Dunya and quietly put his arm around her waist. She didn't resist, but, trembling all over like a leaf, looked at him with imploring eyes. He started to say something, but only his lips twisted, and he couldn't get the words out.

"Let me go!" Dunya said imploringly.

Svidrigailov shuddered: that "you" was somehow pronounced differently than before.

"So you don't love me?" he asked quietly.

Dunya shook her head negatively.

"And... you can't?.. Never?" he whispered in despair.

"Never!" Dunya whispered.

A moment of terrible, silent struggle passed in Svidrigailov's soul. He looked at her with an inexpressible gaze. Suddenly he removed his arm, turned away, quickly walked to the window and stood before it.

Another moment passed.

"Here's the key!" (He took it out of the left pocket of his coat and laid it on the table behind him, without looking and without turning to Dunya.) "Take it; leave quickly!.."

He stared stubbornly out the window.

Dunya approached the table to take the key.

"Quickly! Quickly!" Svidrigailov repeated, still not moving and not turning around. But in that "quickly" there sounded some terrible note.

Dunya understood it, seized the key, rushed to the doors, quickly unlocked them and burst out of the room. A minute later, like a madwoman, not remembering herself, she ran out onto the canal and ran in the direction of ——sky Bridge.

Svidrigailov stood at the window for another three minutes; finally he slowly turned around, looked about, and quietly passed his palm across his forehead. A strange smile distorted his face, a pitiful, sad, weak smile, a smile of despair. The blood, already drying, smeared his palm; he looked at the blood with malice; then he moistened a towel and washed his temple. The revolver Dunya had thrown down and that had bounced toward the doors suddenly caught his eye. He picked it up and examined it. It was a small pocket revolver with three charges, of old design; there were still two charges and one percussion cap left in it. It could be fired once more. He thought for a moment, put the revolver in his pocket, took his hat, and went out.