or you. Drink, Katia! I don't want
anything more to-day, you can go." He poured her out a full glass, and
laid down a yellow note.

Katia drank off her glass of wine, as women do, without putting it down,
in twenty gulps, took the note and kissed Svidrigailov's hand, which he
allowed quite seriously. She went out of the room and the boy trailed
after her with the organ. Both had been brought in from the street.
Svidrigailov had not been a week in Petersburg, but everything about him
was already, so to speak, on a patriarchal footing; the waiter, Philip,
was by now an old friend and very obsequious.

The door leading to the saloon had a lock on it. Svidrigailov was at
home in this room and perhaps spent whole days in it. The tavern was
dirty and wretched, not even second-rate.

"I was going to see you and looking for you," Raskolnikov began, "but
I don't know what made me turn from the Hay Market into the X. Prospect
just now. I never take this turning. I turn to the right from the Hay
Market. And this isn't the way to you. I simply turned and here you are.
It is strange!"

"Why don't you say at once 'it's a miracle'?"

"Because it may be only chance."

"Oh, that's the way with all you folk," laughed Svidrigailov. "You won't
admit it, even if you do inwardly believe it a miracle! Here you say
that it may be only chance. And what cowards they all are here, about
having an opinion of their own, you can't fancy, Rodion Romanovitch. I
don't mean you, you have an opinion of your own and are not afraid to
have it. That's how it was you attracted my curiosity."

"Nothing else?"

"Well, that's enough, you know," Svidrigailov was obviously exhilarated,
but only slightly so, he had not had more than half a glass of wine.

"I fancy you came to see me before you knew that I was capable of having
what you call an opinion of my own," observed Raskolnikov.

"Oh, well, it was a different matter. Everyone has his own plans. And
apropos of the miracle let me tell you that I think you have been asleep
for the last two or three days. I told you of this tavern myself, there
is no miracle in your coming straight here. I explained the way myself,
told you where it was, and the hours you could find me here. Do you
remember?"

"I don't remember," answered Raskolnikov with surprise.

"I believe you. I told you twice. The address has been stamped
mechanically on your memory. You turned this way mechanically and yet
precisely accordi