He has lied incomparably, but he has counted without nature.  Here is the pitfall!  Again, a man off his guard, from an unwary disposition, may delight in mystifying another who suspects him, and may wantonly pretend to be the very criminal wanted by the authorities; in such a case, he will represent the person in question a little too closely, he will place his foot a little too naturally.  Here we have another token.  For the nonce his interlocutor may be duped; but, being no fool, he will on the morrow have seen through the subterfuge.  Then will our friend become compromised more and more!  He will come of his own accord when he is not even called, he will use all kinds of impudent words, remarks, allegories, the meaning of which will be clear to everybody; he will even go so far as to come and ask why he has not been arrested as yet—­hah! hah!  And such a line of conduct may occur to a person of keen intellect, yes, even to a man of psychologic mind!  Nature, my friend, is the most transparent of mirrors.  To contemplate her is sufficient.  But why do you grow pale, Rodion Romanovitch?  Perhaps you are too hot; shall I open the window?”

“By no means, I beg!” cried Raskolnikoff, bursting out laughing.  “Don’t heed me, pray!” Porphyrius stopped short, waited a moment, and burst out laughing himself.  Raskolnikoff, whose hilarity had suddenly died out, rose.  “Porphyrius Petrovitch,” he shouted in a clear and loud voice, although he could scarcely stand on his trembling legs, “I can no longer doubt that you suspect me of having assassinated this old woman as well as her sister, Elizabeth.  Let me tell you that for some time I have had enough of this.  If you think you have the right to hunt me down, to have me arrested, hunt me down, have me arrested.  But you shall not trifle with me, you shall not torture me.”  Suddenly his lips quivered, his eyes gleamed, and his voice, which up to that moment had been self-possessed, reached its highest diapason.  “I will not permit it,” he yelled hoarsely, whilst striking a violent blow on the table.  “Do you hear me, Porphyrius Petrovitch, I shall not permit this!”

“But, goodness gracious! what on earth is wrong with you?” asked the magistrate, disturbed to all appearances. “Batuchka!  Rodion Romanovitch!  My good friend!  What on earth is the matter with you?”

“I will not permit it!” repeated Raskolnikoff once again.

“Batuchka! not so loud, I must request!  Someone will hear you, someone may come; and then, what shall we say?  Just reflect one moment!” murmured Porphyrius Petrovitch, whose face had approached that of his visitor.

“I will not permit it, I will not permit it!” mechanically pursued Raskolnikoff, but in a minor key, so as to be heard by Porphyrius only.

The latter moved away to open the window.  “Let us air the room!  Supposing you were to drink some water, dear friend?  You have had a slight fit!” He was on the point of going to the door to give his orders to a servant, when he saw a water bottle in a corner.  “Drink, batuchka!” he murmured, whilst approaching the young man with the bottle, “that may do you some good.”