of humanity and the general good!  What is your opinion?  Shall not one little crime be effaced and atoned for by a thousand good deeds?  For one useless life a thousand lives saved from decay and death.  One death, and a hundred beings restored to existence!  There’s a calculation for you.  What in proportion is the life of this miserable old woman?  No more than the life of a flea, a beetle, nay, not even that, for she is pernicious.  She preys on other lives.  She lately bit Elizabeth’s finger, in a fit of passion, and nearly bit it off!”

“Certainly she does not deserve to live,” observed the officer, “but nature——­”

“Ah, my friend, nature has to be governed and guided, or we should be drowned in prejudices.  Without it there would never be one great man.  They say ‘duty is conscience.’  Now I have nothing to say against duty and conscience, but let us see, how do we understand them?  Let me put another question to you.  Listen.”

“Stop a minute, I will give you one.”

“Well?”

“After all you have said and declaimed, tell me—­are you going to kill the old woman yourself, or not?”

“Of course not.  I only pointed out the inequality of things.  As for the deed——­”

“Well, if you won’t, it’s my opinion that it would not be just to do so!  Come, let’s have another game!”

Raskolnikoff was in the greatest agitation.  Still, there was nothing extraordinary in this conversation; it was not the first time he had heard, only in other forms and on other topics, such ideas from the lips of the young and hot-headed.  But why should he, of all men, happen to overhear such a conversation and such ideas, when the very same thoughts were being engendered in himself?—­and why precisely then, immediately on his becoming possessed of them and on leaving the old woman?  Strange, indeed, did this coincidence appear to him.  This idle conversation was destined to have a fearful influence on his destiny, extending to the most trifling incident and causing him to feel sure he was the instrument of a fixed purpose.

* * * * *

On his return from the market, he flung himself upon his couch and sat motionless for a whole hour.  It became dark, he had no light, but sat on.  He could never afterwards recollect his thoughts at the time.  At last he felt cold, and a shiver ran through him.  He recognized with delight that he was sitting on his couch and could lie down, and soon he fell into a deep, heavy sleep.  He slept much longer than usual, and his slumbers were undisturbed by dreams.  Nastasia, who came to his room the next morning at ten o’clock, had great difficulty in awakening him.  The servant brought him some bread and, the same as the day before, what was left of her tea.

“Not up yet!” exclaimed she indignantly.  “How can you sleep so long?”

Raskolnikoff raised himself with an effort; his head ached; he got upon his feet, took a few steps, and then dropped down again upon the couch.