He stood stock-still, not daring to believe his eyes:  the door of the lodging, the outer door which opened on to the landing, the same one at which he had rung a little while before and by which he had entered, was open; up till then it had remained ajar, the old woman had no doubt omitted to close it by way of precaution; it had been neither locked nor bolted!  But he had seen Elizabeth after that.  How was it that it had not occurred to him that she had come in by way of the door?  She could not have entered the lodging through the wall.  He shut the door and bolted it.  “But no, that is not what I should do?  I must go away, go away.”  He drew back the bolt and, after opening the door again, stood listening on the landing.

He stood thus a long while.  Down below, probably at the street door, two noisy voices were vociferating insults.  “Who can those people be?” He waited patiently.  At last the noise ceased, the brawlers had taken their departure.  The young man was about to do the same, when a door on the floor immediately below was noisily opened and some one went downstairs, humming a tune.  “Whatever are they all up to?” wondered Raskolnikoff, and closing the door again he waited a while.  At length all became silent as before; but just as he was preparing to go down, he suddenly became aware of a fresh sound, footsteps as yet far off, at the bottom of the staircase; and he no sooner heard them than he guessed the truth:—­some one was coming there, to the old woman’s on the fourth floor.  Whence came this presentiment?  What was there so particularly significant in the sound of these footsteps?  They were heavy, regular, and rather slow than hurried. He has now reached the first floor, he still continues to ascend.  The sound is becoming plainer and plainer.  He pants as though with asthma at each step he takes.  He has commenced the third flight.  He will soon be on the fourth!  And Raskolnikoff felt suddenly seized as with a general paralysis, the same as happens when a person has the nightmare and fancies himself pursued by enemies; they are on the point of catching him, they will kill him, and yet he remains spellbound, unable to move a limb.

The stranger was now ascending the fourth flight.  Raskolnikoff, who until then had been riveted to the landing with fright, was at length able to shake off his torpor, and hastily reentered the apartment, closing the door behind him.  Then he bolted it, being careful to make as little noise as possible.  Instinct rather than reason prompted him to do this.  When he had finished, he remained close to the door, listening, scarcely daring to breathe.  The visitor was now on the landing.  Only the thickness of the door separated the two men.  The unknown was in the same position toward Raskolnikoff as the latter had been a little while before toward the old woman.  The visitor stood panting for some little time.  “He must be stout and big,” thought the young man as he clasped the hatchet firmly in his hand.