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Raskolnikov went straight to the house on the canal bank where

Sonia lived. It was an old green house of three storeys. He found

the porter and obtained from him vague directions as to the

whereabouts of Kapernaumov, the tailor. Having found in the

corner of the courtyard the entrance to the dark and narrow

staircase, he mounted to the second floor and came out into a

gallery that ran round the whole second storey over the yard.

While he was wandering in the darkness, uncertain where to turn

for Kapernaumov's door, a door opened three paces from him; he

mechanically took hold of it.

"Who is there?" a woman's voice asked uneasily.

"It's I... come to see you," answered Raskolnikov, and he walked

into the tiny entry.

On a broken chair stood a candle in a battered copper

candlestick.

"It's you! Good heavens!" cried Sonia weakly, and she stood

rooted to the spot.

"Which is your room? This way?" and Raskolnikov, trying not to

look at her, hastened in.