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"Foo! what an ass you are sometimes! Last night's wine has not

gone off yet.... Good-bye; thank your Praskovya Pavlovna from me

for my night's lodging. She locked herself in, made no reply to

my bonjour through the door; she was up at seven o'clock, the

samovar was taken into her from the kitchen. I was not vouchsafed

a personal interview...."

At nine o'clock precisely Razumihin reached the lodgings at

Bakaleyev's house. Both ladies were waiting for him with nervous

impatience. They had risen at seven o'clock or earlier. He

entered looking as black as night, bowed awkwardly and was at

once furious with himself for it. He had reckoned without his

host: Pulcheria Alexandrovna fairly rushed at him, seized him by

both hands and was almost kissing them. He glanced timidly at

Avdotya Romanovna, but her proud countenance wore at that moment

an expression of such gratitude and friendliness, such complete

and unlooked-for respect (in place of the sneering looks and

ill-disguised contempt he had expected), that it threw him into

greater confusion than if he had been met with abuse. Fortunately

there was a subject for conversation, and he made haste to snatch

at it.