t, light summer trousers, and everything about him loose,
fashionable and spick and span; his linen was irreproachable, his
watch-chain was massive. In manner he was slow and, as it were,
nonchalant, and at the same time studiously free and easy; he made
efforts to conceal his self-importance, but it was apparent at every
instant. All his acquaintances found him tedious, but said he was clever
at his work.

"I've been to you twice to-day, brother. You see, he's come to himself,"
cried Razumihin.

"I see, I see; and how do we feel now, eh?" said Zossimov to
Raskolnikov, watching him carefully and, sitting down at the foot of the
sofa, he settled himself as comfortably as he could.

"He is still depressed," Razumihin went on. "We've just changed his
linen and he almost cried."

"That's very natural; you might have put it off if he did not wish
it.... His pulse is first-rate. Is your head still aching, eh?"

"I am well, I am perfectly well!" Raskolnikov declared positively
and irritably. He raised himself on the sofa and looked at them with
glittering eyes, but sank back on to the pillow at once and turned to
the wall. Zossimov watched him intently.

"Very good.... Going on all right," he said lazily. "Has he eaten
anything?"

They told him, and asked what he might have.

"He may have anything... soup, tea... mushrooms and cucumbers, of
course, you must not give him; he'd better not have meat either, and...
but no need to tell you that!" Razumihin and he looked at each
other. "No more medicine or anything. I'll look at him again to-morrow.
Perhaps, to-day even... but never mind..."

"To-morrow evening I shall take him for a walk," said Razumihin. "We are
going to the Yusupov garden and then to the Palais de Crystal."

"I would not disturb him to-morrow at all, but I don't know... a little,
maybe... but we'll see."

"Ach, what a nuisance! I've got a house-warming party to-night; it's
only a step from here. Couldn't he come? He could lie on the sofa. You
are coming?" Razumihin said to Zossimov. "Don't forget, you promised."

"All right, only rather later. What are you going to do?"

"Oh, nothing--tea, vodka, herrings. There will be a pie... just our
friends."

"And who?"

"All neighbours here, almost all new friends, except my old uncle, and
he is new too--he only arrived in Petersburg yesterday to see to some
business of his. We meet once in five years."

"What is he?"

"He's been stagnating all his l