rious behaviour." All this passed vaguely and fleetingly through
his brain, but looking at her more intently, he saw that the humiliated
creature was so humiliated that he felt suddenly sorry for her. When she
made a movement to retreat in terror, it sent a pang to his heart.

"I did not expect you," he said, hurriedly, with a look that made her
stop. "Please sit down. You come, no doubt, from Katerina Ivanovna.
Allow me--not there. Sit here...."

At Sonia's entrance, Razumihin, who had been sitting on one of
Raskolnikov's three chairs, close to the door, got up to allow her to
enter. Raskolnikov had at first shown her the place on the sofa where
Zossimov had been sitting, but feeling that the sofa which served him
as a bed, was too _familiar_ a place, he hurriedly motioned her to
Razumihin's chair.

"You sit here," he said to Razumihin, putting him on the sofa.

Sonia sat down, almost shaking with terror, and looked timidly at the
two ladies. It was evidently almost inconceivable to herself that she
could sit down beside them. At the thought of it, she was so frightened
that she hurriedly got up again, and in utter confusion addressed
Raskolnikov.

"I... I... have come for one minute. Forgive me for disturbing you," she
began falteringly. "I come from Katerina Ivanovna, and she had no one to
send. Katerina Ivanovna told me to beg you... to be at the service... in
the morning... at Mitrofanievsky... and then... to us... to her...
to do her the honour... she told me to beg you..." Sonia stammered and
ceased speaking.

"I will try, certainly, most certainly," answered Raskolnikov. He,
too, stood up, and he, too, faltered and could not finish his sentence.
"Please sit down," he said, suddenly. "I want to talk to you. You are
perhaps in a hurry, but please, be so kind, spare me two minutes," and
he drew up a chair for her.

Sonia sat down again, and again timidly she took a hurried, frightened
look at the two ladies, and dropped her eyes. Raskolnikov's pale face
flushed, a shudder passed over him, his eyes glowed.

"Mother," he said, firmly and insistently, "this is Sofya Semyonovna
Marmeladov, the daughter of that unfortunate Mr. Marmeladov, who was run
over yesterday before my eyes, and of whom I was just telling you."

Pulcheria Alexandrovna glanced at Sonia, and slightly screwed up
her eyes. In spite of her embarrassment before Rodya's urgent and
challenging look, she could not deny herself that satisfaction.