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While she said this she was hurriedly putting on her hat and

mantle; Dounia, too, put on her things. Her gloves, as Razumihin

noticed, were not merely shabby but had holes in them, and yet

this evident poverty gave the two ladies an air of special

dignity, which is always found in people who know how to wear

poor clothes. Razumihin looked reverently at Dounia and felt

proud of escorting her. "The queen who mended her stockings in

prison," he thought, "must have looked then every inch a queen

and even more a queen than at sumptuous banquets and levees."

"My God!" exclaimed Pulcheria Alexandrovna, "little did I think

that I should ever fear seeing my son, my darling, darling Rodya!

I am afraid, Dmitri Prokofitch," she added, glancing at him

timidly.

"Don't be afraid, mother," said Dounia, kissing her, "better have

faith in him."

"Oh, dear, I have faith in him, but I haven't slept all night,"

exclaimed the poor woman.

They came out into the street.