The previous winter, a fellow student, Pokoreff by name, on leaving for Charkoff, had happened to communicate to him in conversation the address of Alena Ivanovna, in case he should ever require to pawn anything.  For a long time he did not use it, as he was giving lessons, and managed somehow to get along, but six weeks before this time he had recollected the address.  He had two things fit to pawn—­an old silver watch, formerly his father’s; and a small gold ring with three red stones, a souvenir from his sister on leaving home.  He decided on getting rid of the latter, and went to the old woman’s.  At the first glance, and knowing nothing whatever of her personally, she inspired him with an unaccountable loathing.  He took her two notes, and on leaving went into a poor traktir, or restaurant, and ordered some tea.  He sat down musing, and strange thoughts flitted across his mind and became hatched in his brain.  Close by, at another table, were seated a student, whom he did not knew, and a young officer.  They had been playing billiards, and were now drinking tea.  Suddenly Raskolnikoff heard the student give the officer the address of Alena Ivanovna, the widow of a professor, as one who lent money on pledges.  This alone struck Raskolnikoff as very peculiar.  They were talking of the same person he had just been to see.  No doubt it was pure chance, but, at the moment he was struggling against an impression he could not overcome, this stranger’s words came and gave extra force to it.  The student went on talking, and began to give his companion some account of Alena Ivanovna.

“She is well known,” he said, “and always good for money.  She is as rich as a Jew, and can advance five thousand rubles at a moment’s notice; yet she will take in pledge objects worth as little as a ruble.  She is quite a providence to many of our fellows—­but such an old hag!  I tell you what I would do.  I would kill that damnable old hag, and take all she is possessed of, without any qualm of conscience,” exclaimed the student excitedly.  The officer laughed, but Raskolnikoff shuddered.  The words just uttered so strongly echoed his own thoughts.  “Let me put a serious question to you,” resumed the student, more and more excited.  “I have hitherto been joking, but now listen to this.  On the one side here is a silly, flint-hearted, evil-minded, sulky old woman, necessary to no one—­on the contrary, pernicious to all—­and who does not know herself why she lives.”

“Well?” said the officer.

“Hear me further.  On the other hand, young fresh strength droops and is lost for want of sustenance; this is the case with thousands everywhere!  A hundred, a thousand good deeds and enterprises could be carried out and upheld with the money this old woman has bequeathed to a monastery.  A dozen families might be saved from hunger, want, ruin, crime, and misery, and all with her money!  Kill her, I say, take it from her, and dedicate it to the service