Whilst thinking about all this and getting ready for a new struggle, Raskolnikoff suddenly perceived that he was trembling; he became indignant at the very thought that it was fear of an interview with the hateful Porphyrius Petrovitch which led him to do so.  The most terrible thing to him was to find himself once again in presence of this man.  He hated him beyond all expression, and what he dreaded was lest he might show this hatred.  His indignation was so great that it suddenly stopped this trembling; he therefore prepared himself to enter with a calm and self-possessed air, promised himself to speak as little as possible, to be very carefully on the watch in order to check, above all things, his irascible disposition.  In the midst of these reflections, he was introduced to Porphyrius Petrovitch.  The latter was alone in his office, a room of medium dimensions, containing a large table, facing a sofa covered with shiny leather, a bureau, a cupboard standing in a corner, and a few chairs:  all this furniture, provided by the State, was of yellow wood.  In the wall, or rather in the wainscoting of the other end, there was a closed door, which led one to think that there were other rooms behind it.  As soon as Porphyrius Petrovitch had seen Raskolnikoff enter his office, he went to close the door which had given him admission, and both stood facing one another.  The magistrate received his visitor to all appearances in a pleasant and affable manner, and it was only at the expiration of a few moments that the latter observed the magistrate’s somewhat embarrassed manner—­he seemed to have been disturbed in a more or less clandestine occupation.

“Good! my respectable friend!  Here you are then—­in our latitudes!” commenced Porphyrius, holding out both hands.  “Pray, be seated, batuchka!  But, perhaps, you don’t like being called respectable?  Therefore, batuchka, for short!  Pray, don’t think me familiar.  Sit down here on the sofa.”

Raskolnikoff did so without taking his eyes off the judge.  “These words ‘in our latitudes,’ these excuses for his familiarity, this expression ‘for short,’ what could be the meaning of all this?  He held out his hands to me without shaking mine, withdrawing them before I could do so,” thought Raskolnikoff mistrustfully.  Both watched each other, but no sooner did their eyes meet than they both turned them aside with the rapidity of a flash of lightning.

“I have called with this paper—­about the——­ If you please.  Is it correct, or must another form be drawn up?” “What, what paper?  Oh, yes!  Do not put yourself out.  It is perfectly correct,” answered Porphyrius somewhat hurriedly, before he had even examined it; then, after having cast a glance on it, he said, speaking very rapidly:  “Quite right, that is all that is required,” and placed the sheet on the table.  A moment later he locked it up in his bureau, chattering about other things.

“Yesterday,” observed Raskolnikoff, “you had, I fancy, a wish to examine me formally—­with reference to my dealings with—­the victim?  At least so it seemed to me!”