The old woman fumbled in her pockets for her keys, and passed on into the adjoining room.  The young man, left standing there alone, pricked up his ears and began to make various inductions.  He heard this female usurer open her drawer.  “It must be the top one,” was his conclusion.  “I know now that she carries her keys in her right pocket—­they are all hung on a steel ring—­one of them is three times as large as the rest, and has the wards toothed; that cannot be the key of her drawer—­then she must have some strong box or safe.  It is curious that the keys of strong boxes should be generally like that—­but, after all, how ignoble!”

The old woman reappeared.  “See here, batuchka:  if I take a ten-kopeck piece a month on each ruble, I ought to receive fifteen kopecks on a ruble and a half, the interest being payable in advance.  Then, as you ask me to wait another month for the repayment of the two rubles I have already lent you, you owe me twenty kopecks more, which makes a total of five and thirty.  What, therefore, I have to advance upon your watch is one ruble fifteen kopecks.  Here it is.”

“What!  Is one ruble fifteen kopecks all you mean to give me now?”

“That is all that is due to you.”

The young man took the money without further discussion.  He looked at the old woman and was in no haste to depart.  He seemed anxious to say or do something more, but without knowing exactly what.  “Perhaps I may be bringing you some other article soon, Alena Ivanovna, a very pretty cigar case—­a silver one—­when I get it back from the friend to whom I have lent it.”  These words were uttered with much embarrassment.

“Well, we can talk about it then, batuchka.”

“Good-by.  You are always alone—­is your sister never with you?” asked he with as indifferent an air as he could assume, as he entered the anteroom.

“What have you to do with my sister, batuchka?”

“Nothing.  I had no reason for asking.  You will—­well, good-by, Alena Ivanovna.”

Raskolnikoff made his exit in a perturbed state of mind.  As he went downstairs, he stopped from time to time, as if overcome by violent emotion.  When he had at length emerged upon the street, he exclaimed to himself:  “How loathsome it all is!  Can I, can I ever?—­no, it is absurd, preposterous!” added he mentally.  “How could such a horrible idea ever enter my head?  Could I ever be capable of such infamy?  It is odious, ignoble, repulsive!  And yet for a whole month——­”

Words and exclamations, however, could not give full vent to his agitation.  The loathing sense of disgust which had begun to oppress him on his way to the old woman’s house had now become so intense that he longed to find some way of escape from the torture.  He reeled along the pavement like a tipsy man, taking no notice of those who passed, but bumping against them.  On looking round he saw a dram shop near at hand; steps led down from the