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Raskolnikov was still laughing, with his hand in Porfiry

Petrovitch's, but anxious not to overdo it, awaited the right

moment to put a natural end to it. Razumihin, completely put to

confusion by upsetting the table and smashing the glass, gazed

gloomily at the fragments, cursed and turned sharply to the

window where he stood looking out with his back to the company

with a fiercely scowling countenance, seeing nothing. Porfiry

Petrovitch laughed and was ready to go on laughing, but obviously

looked for explanations. Zametov had been sitting in the corner,

but he rose at the visitors' entrance and was standing in

expectation with a smile on his lips, though he looked with

surprise and even it seemed incredulity at the whole scene and at

Raskolnikov with a certain embarrassment. Zametov's unexpected

presence struck Raskolnikov unpleasantly.

"I've got to think of that," he thought. "Excuse me, please," he

began, affecting extreme embarrassment. "Raskolnikov."