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who lay undressed； dishevelled； unwashed； on his miserable dirty sofa；
looking fixedly at him。 Then with the same deliberation he scrutinised
the uncouth； unkempt figure and unshaven face of Razumihin； who looked
him boldly and inquiringly in the face without rising from his seat。 A
constrained silence lasted for a couple of minutes； and then； as might
be expected； some scene…shifting took place。 Reflecting； probably from
certain fairly unmistakable signs； that he would get nothing in this
〃cabin〃 by attempting to overawe them； the gentleman softened
somewhat； and civilly； though with some severity； emphasising every
syllable of his question； addressed Zossimov：
〃Rodion Romanovitch Raskolnikov； a student； or formerly a student？〃
Zossimov made a slight movement； and would have answered； had not
Razumihin anticipated him。
〃Here he is lying on the sofa！ What do you want？〃
This familiar 〃what do you want〃 seemed to cut the ground from the
feet of the pompous gentleman。 He was turning to Razumihin； but
checked himself in time and turned to Zossimov again。
〃This is Raskolnikov；〃 mumbled Zossimov； nodding towards him。 Then
he gave a prolonged yawn； opening his mouth as wide as possible。
Then he lazily put his hand into his waistcoat…pocket； pulled out a
huge gold watch in a round hunter's case； opened it； looked at it
and as slowly and lazily proceeded to put it back。
Raskolnikov himself lay without speaking； on his back； gazing
persistently； though 'without understanding； at the stranger。 Now that
his face was turned away from the strange flower on the paper； it
was extremely pale and wore a look of anguish； as though he had just
undergone an agonising operation or just been taken from the rack。 But
the new…comer gradually began to arouse his attention； then his
wonder； then suspicion and even alarm。 When Zossimov said 〃This is
Raskolnikov〃 he jumped up quickly； sat on the sofa and with an
almost defiant； but weak and breaking； voice articulated：
〃Yes； I am Raskolnikov！ What do you want？〃
The visitor scrutinised him and pronounced impressively：
〃Pyotr Petrovitch Luzhin。 I believe I have reason to hope that my
name is not wholly unknown to you？〃
But Raskolnikov； who had expected something quite different； gazed
blankly and dreamily at him； making no reply； as though he heard the
name of Pyotr Petrovitch for the first time。
〃Is it possible that you can up to the present have received no
information？〃 asked Pyotr Petrovitch； somewhat disconcerted。
In reply Raskolnikov sank languidly back on the pillow； put his
hands behind his head and gazed at the ceiling。 A look of dismay
came into Luzhin's face。 Zossimov and Razumihin stared at him more
inquisitively than ever； and at last he showed unmistakable signs of
embarrassment。
〃I had presumed and calculated；〃 he faltered； 〃that a letter
posted more than ten days； if not a fortnight ago。。。〃
〃I say； why are you standing in the doorway？〃 Razumihin
interrupted suddenly。 〃If you've something to say； sit down。
Nastasya and you are so crowded。 Nastasya； make room。 Here's a
chair； thread your way in！〃
He moved his chair back from the table； made a little space
between the table and his knees； and waited in a rather cramped
position for the visitor to 〃thread his way in。〃 The minute was so
chosen that it was impossible to refuse； and the visitor squeezed
his way through； hurrying and stumbling。 Reaching the chair； he sat
down； looking suspiciously at Razumihin。
〃No need to be nervous；〃 the latter blurted out。 〃Rodya has been ill
for the last five days and delirious for three； but now he is
recovering and has got an appetite。 This is his doctor； who has just
had a look at him。 I am a comrade of Rodya's； like him； formerly a
student； and now I am nursing him； so don't you take any notice of us；
but go on with your business。〃
〃Thank you。 But shall I not disturb the invalid by my presence and
conversation？〃 Pyotr Petrovitch asked of Zossimov。
〃N…no；〃 mumbled Zossimov； 〃you may amuse him。〃 He yawned again。
〃He has been conscious a long time； since the morning；〃 went on
Razumihin； whose familiarity seemed so much like unaffected
good…nature that Pyotr Petrovitch began to be more cheerful； partly；
perhaps； because this shabby and impudent person had introduced
himself as a student。
〃Your mamma；〃 began Luzhin。
〃Hm！〃 Razumihin cleared his throat loudly。 Luzhin looked at him
inquiringly。
〃That's all right； go on。〃
Luzhin shrugged his shoulders。
〃Your mamma had commenced a letter to you while I was sojourning
in her neighbourhood。 On my arrival here I purposely allowed a few
days to elapse before coming to see you； in order that I might be
fully assured that you were in full possession of the tidings； but
now； to my astonishment。。。〃
〃I know； I know！〃 Raskolnikov cried suddenly with impatient
vexation。 〃So you are the fiance？ I know； and that's enough！〃
There was no doubt about Pyotr Petrovitch's being offended this
time； but he said nothing。 He made a violent effort to understand what
it all meant。 There was a moment's silence。
Meanwhile Raskolnikov； who had turned a little towards him when he
answered； began suddenly staring at him again with marked curiosity；
as though he had not had a good look at him yet； or as though
something new had struck him； he rose from his pillow on purpose to
stare at him。 There certainly was something peculiar in Pyotr
Petrovitch's whole appearance； something which seemed to justify the
title of 〃fiance〃 so unceremoniously applied to him。 In the first
place； it was evident； far too much so indeed； that Pyotr Petrovitch
had made eager use of his few days in the capital to get himself up
and rig himself out in expectation of his betrothed… a perfectly
innocent and permissible proceeding； indeed。 Even his own； perhaps too
complacent； consciousness of the agreeable improvement in his
appearance might have been forgiven in such circumstances； seeing that
Pyotr Petrovitch had taken up the role of fiance。 All his clothes were
fresh from the tailor's and were all right； except for being too new
and too distinctly appropriate。 Even the stylish new round hat had the
same significance。 Pyotr Petrovitch treated it too respectfully and
held it too carefully in his hands。 The exquisite pair of lavender
gloves； real Louvain； told the same tale； if only from the fact of his
not wearing them； but carrying them in his hand for show。 Light and
youthful colours predominated in Pyotr Petrovitch's attire。 He wore
a charming summer jacket of a fawn shade； light thin trousers； a
waistcoat of the same； new and fine linen； a cravat of the lightest
cambric with pink stripes on it； and the best of it was； this all
suited Pyotr Petrovitch。 His very fresh and even handsome face
looked younger than his forty…five years at all times。 His dark；
mutton…chop whiskers made an agreeable setting on both sides；
growing thickly about his shining； clean…shaven chin。 Even his hair；
touched here and there with grey； though it had been combed and curled
at a hairdresser's； did not give him a stupid appearance； as curled
hair usually does； by inevitably suggesting a German on his
wedding…day。 If there really was something unpleasing and repulsive in
his rather good…looking and imposing countenance； it was due to
quite other causes。 After scanning