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but how was it he did not recognise it at once? The steps of the

man above had died away. "So he must have stopped or hidden

somewhere." He reached the third storey, should he go on? There

was a stillness that was dreadful.... But he went on. The sound

of his own footsteps scared and frightened him. How dark it was!

The man must be hiding in some corner here. Ah! the flat was

standing wide open, he hesitated and went in. It was very dark

and empty in the passage, as though everything had been removed;

he crept on tiptoe into the parlour which was flooded with

moonlight. Everything there was as before, the chairs, the

looking-glass, the yellow sofa and the pictures in the frames. A

huge, round, copper-red moon looked in at the windows. "It's the

moon that makes it so still, weaving some mystery," thought

Raskolnikov. He stood and waited, waited a long while, and the

more silent the moonlight, the more violently his heart beat,

till it was painful. And still the same hush.