place than the
previous one--"in one word, either be good enough to cross-examine me,
or let me go this very moment. If you do question me, do so in the
usual formal way; otherwise, I shall object. In the meanwhile, adieu,
since we have nothing more to do with one another."

"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