"But you belong to Zaraisk, don't you? To what Government?"The boy stared at Raskolnikoff. "We have no governor, your highness, but districts. I stay at home, and know nothing about it, but my brother does; so pardon me, your most mighty highness.""Is that an eating house there?"
"That's a dram shop; they have a billiard table.""There are newspapers here?" asked he, as he entered a room--one of a suite--rather empty. Two or three persons sat with tea before them, while in a farther room a group of men were seated, drinking champagne. Raskolnikoff thought he recognized Zametoff among them, but be could not be sure. "Never mind, if it is!" he muttered.
"Brandy, sir?" asked the waiter.
"No, tea; and bring me some newspapers--for about the last five days. I'll give you a drink."The papers and the tea appeared. Raskolnikoff sat and searched, and, at last, found what he wanted. "Ah, here it is!" he cried, as he began to read. The words danced before his eyes, but he read greedily to the end, and turned to others for later intelligence.
His hands trembled with impatience, and the sheets shook again.
Suddenly some one sat down near him. He looked up, and there was Zametoff--that same Zametoff, with his rings and chain, his oiled locks and fancy waistcoat and unclean linen. He seemed pleased, and his tanned face, a little inflamed by the champagne, wore a smile.
"Ah! you here?" he commenced, in a tone as if he had known Raskolnikoff for an age. "Why Razoumikhin told me yesterday that you were lying unconscious. How strange! Then I was at your place--"Raskolnikoff laid down the paper and turned to Zametoff. On his lips was a slight provoking smile. "I know you were," he replied, "I heard so. You searched for my boot. To what agreeable places you resort. Who gives you champagne to drink?""We were drinking together. What do you mean?""Nothing, dear boy, nothing," said Raskolnikoff, with a smile and slapping Zametoff on the shoulders. "I am not in earnest, but simply in fun, as your workman said, when he wrestled with Dmitri, you know, in that murder case.""Do you know about that?"
"Yes, and perhaps more than you do."
"You are very peculiar. It is a pity you came out. You are ill.""Do I seem strange?"
"Yes; what are you reading?"
"The paper."
"There are a number of fires."
"I am not reading about them." He looked curiously at Zametoff, and a malicious smile distorted his lips. "No, fires are not in my line," he added, winking at Zametoff. "Now, I should like to know, sweet youth, what it signifies to you what I read?""Nothing at all. I only asked. Perhaps I--""Listen. You are a cultivated man--a literary man, are you not?""I was in the sixth class at college," Zametoff answered, with a certain amount of dignity.
"The sixth! Oh, my fine fellow! With rings and a chain--a rich man! You are a dear boy," and Raskolnikoff gave a short, nervous laugh, right in the face of Zametoff. The latter was very much taken aback, and, if not offended, seemed a good deal surprised.
"How strange you are!" said Zametoff seriously. "You have the fever still on you; you are raving!""Am I, my fine fellow--am I strange? Yes, but I am very interesting to you, am I not?""Interesting?"
"Yes. You ask me what I am reading, what I am looking for; then Iam looking through a number of papers. Suspicious, isn't it?
Well, I will explain to you, or rather confess--no, not that exactly. I will give testimony, and you shall take it down--that's it. So then, I swear that I was reading, and came here on purpose"--Raskolnikoff blinked his eyes and paused--"to read an account of the murder of the old woman." He finished almost in a whisper, eagerly watching Zametoff's face. The latter returned his glances without flinching. And it appeared strange to Zametoff that a full minute seemed to pass as they kept fixedly staring at each other in this manner.
"Oh, so that's what you have been reading?" Zametoff at last cried impatiently. "What is there in that?""She is the same woman," continued Raskolnikoff, still in a whisper, and taking no notice of Zametoff's remark, "the very same woman you were talking about when I swooned in your office. You recollect--you surely recollect?""Recollect what?" said Zametoff, almost alarmed.
The serious expression on Raskolnikoff's face altered in an instant, and he again commenced his nervous laugh, and laughed as if he were quite unable to contain himself. There had recurred to his mind, with fearful clearness, the moment when he stood at the door with the hatchet in his hand. There he was, holding the bolt, and they were tugging and thumping away at the door. Oh, how he itched to shriek at them, open the door, thrust out his tongue at them, and frighten them away, and then laugh, "Ah, ah, ah, ah!""You are insane, or else--" said Zametoff, and then paused as if a new thought had suddenly struck him.
"Or what, or what? Now what? Tell me!"
"Nonsense!" said Zametoff to himself, "it can't be." Both became silent. After this unexpected and fitful outburst of laughter, Raskolnikoff had become lost in thought and looked very sad. He leaned on the table with his elbows, buried his head in his hands, and seemed to have quite forgotten Zametoff. The silence continued a long time. "You do not drink your tea; it is getting cold," said the latter, at last.
"What? Tea? Yes!" Raskolnikoff snatched at his glass, put a piece of bread in his mouth, and then, after looking at Zametoff, seemingly recollected and roused himself. His face at once resumed its previous smile, and he continued to sip his tea.
"What a number of rogues there are about," Zametoff said. "I read not long ago, in the Moscow papers, that they had captured a whole gang of forgers in that city. Quite a colony.""That's old news. I read it a month ago," replied Raskolnikoff in a careless manner. "And you call such as these rogues?" he added, smiling.
"Why not?"
