In order to avoid all idea of mystery, the young man purposely moved about rather noisily, and muttered something half aloud; then he rang a third time, but gently and coolly, without allowing the bell to betray the least sign of impatience.  Raskolnikoff never forgot this moment of his life.  When, in after days, he thought over it, he could never understand how he had been able to display such cunning, especially at a time when emotion was now and again depriving him of the free use of his intellectual and physical faculties.  After a short while he heard the bolt withdrawn.

The door, as before, was opened a little, and again the two eyes, with mistrustful glance, peeped out of the dark.  Then Raskolnikoff lost his presence of mind and made a serious mistake.  Fearing that the old woman would take alarm at finding they were alone, and knowing that his appearance would not reassure her, he took hold of the door and pulled it toward him in order to prevent her shutting it again if she should be thus minded.  Seeing this, she held on to the lock, so that he almost drew her together with the door on to the staircase.  She recovered herself, and stood to prevent his entrance, speechless with fright.

“Good evening, Alena Ivanovna,” he commenced, trying to speak with unconcern, but his voice did not obey him, and he faltered and trembled, “Good evening, I have brought you something, but we had better go into the light.”  He pushed past her and entered the room uninvited.  The old woman followed and found her tongue.

“What is it you want?  Who are you?” she commenced.

“Pardon me, Alena Ivanovna, your old acquaintance Raskolnikoff.  I have brought a pledge, as I promised the other day,” and he held out the packet to her.

The old woman was about to examine it, when she raised her eyes and looked straight into those of the visitor who had entered so unceremoniously.  She examined him attentively, distrustfully, for a minute.  Raskolnikoff fancied there was a gleam of mockery in her look as if she guessed all.  He felt he was changing color, and that if she kept her glance upon him much longer without saying a word he would be obliged to run away.

“Why are you looking at me thus?” he said at last in anger.  “Will you take it or not? or shall I take it elsewhere?  I have no time to waste.”  He did not intend to say this, but the words came out.  The tone seemed to quiet her suspicions.

“Why were you so impatient, batuchka?  What is it?” she asked, glancing at the pledge.

“The silver cigarette case of which I spoke the other day.”

She held out her hand.  “But why are you so pale, why do your hands shake?  What is the matter with you, batuchka?”

“Fever,” replied he abruptly.  “You would be pale too if you had nothing to eat.”  He could hardly speak the words and felt his strength falling.  But there was some plausibility in his reply; and the old woman took the pledge.