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"To a funeral."

"Of course, the funeral! Take care of yourself, and get well."

"I don't know what to wish you," said Raskolnikov, who had begun

to descend the stairs, but looked back again. "I should like to

wish you success, but your office is such a comical one."

"Why comical?" Porfiry Petrovitch had turned to go, but he seemed

to prick up his ears at this.

"Why, how you must have been torturing and harassing that poor

Nikolay psychologically, after your fashion, till he confessed!

You must have been at him day and night, proving to him that he

was the murderer, and now that he has confessed, you'll begin

vivisecting him again. 'You are lying,' you'll say. 'You are not

the murderer! You can't be! It's not your own tale you are

telling!' You must admit it's a comical business!"

"He-he-he! You noticed then that I said to Nikolay just now that

it was not his own tale he was telling?"

"How could I help noticing it!"