“Good gracious!  What can you be talking about?  Question you about what?” replied the magistrate, immediately ceasing his laugh.  “Don’t, I beg, disturb yourself.”  He requested Raskolnikoff to sit down once more, continuing, nevertheless, his tramp about the room.  “There is time, plenty of time.  The matter is not of such importance after all.  On the contrary, I am delighted at your visit—­for as such do I take your call.  As for my horrid way of laughing, batuchka, Rodion Romanovitch, I must apologize.  I am a nervous man, and the shrewdness of your observations has tickled me.  There are times when I go up and down like an elastic ball, and that for half an hour at a time.  I am fond of laughter.  My temperament leads me to dread apoplexy.  But, pray, do sit down—­why remain standing?  Do, I must request you, batuchka; otherwise I shall fancy that you are cross.”

His brows still knit, Raskolnikoff held his tongue, listened, and watched.  In the meanwhile he sat down.

“As far as I am concerned, batuchka, Rodion Romanovitch, I will tell you something which shall reveal to you my disposition,” answered Porphyrius Petrovitch, continuing to fidget about the room, and, as before, avoiding his visitor’s gaze.  “I live alone, you must know, never go into society, and am, therefore, unknown; add to which, that I am a man on the shady side of forty, somewhat played out.  You may have noticed, Rodion Romanovitch, that here—­I mean in Russia, of course, and especially in St. Petersburg circles—­that when two intelligent men happen to meet who, as yet, are not familiar, but who, however, have mutual esteem—­as, for instance, you and I have at this moment—­don’t know what to talk about for half an hour at a time.  They seem, both of them, as if petrified.  Everyone else has a subject for conversation—­ladies, for instance, people in society, the upper ten—­all these sets have some topic or other.  It is the thing, but somehow people of the middle-class, like you and I, seem constrained and taciturn.  How does that come about, batuchka?  Have we no social interests?  Or is it, rather, owing to our being too straightforward to mislead one another?  I don’t know.  What is your opinion, pray?  But do, I beg, remove your cap; one would really fancy that you wanted to be off, and that pains me.  I, you must know, am so contented.”

Raskolnikoff laid his cap down.  He did not, however, become more loquacious; and, with knit brows, listened to Porphyrius’s idle chatter.  “I suppose,” thought he, “he only doles out his small talk to distract my attention.”

“I don’t offer you any coffee,” went on the inexhaustible Porphyrius, “because this is not the place for it, but can you not spend a few minutes with a friend, by way of causing him some little distraction?  You must know that all these professional obligations—­don’t be vexed, batuchka, if you see me walking about like this, I am sure you will excuse me, if I tell