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"One word, Rodion Romanovitch; as to all the rest, it's in God's

hands, but as a matter of form there are some questions I shall

have to ask you... so we shall meet again, shan't we?"

And Porfiry stood still, facing him with a smile.

"Shan't we?" he added again.

He seemed to want to say something more, but could not speak out.

"You must forgive me, Porfiry Petrovitch, for what has just

passed... I lost my temper," began Raskolnikov, who had so far

regained his courage that he felt irresistibly inclined to

display his coolness.

"Don't mention it, don't mention it," Porfiry replied, almost

gleefully. "I myself, too... I have a wicked temper, I admit it!

But we shall meet again. If it's God's will, we may see a great

deal of one another."

"And will get to know each other through and through?" added

Raskolnikov.

"Yes; know each other through and through," assented Porfiry

Petrovitch, and he screwed up his eyes, looking earnestly at

Raskolnikov. "Now you're going to a birthday party?"