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A cry of joy, of ecstasy, greeted Raskolnikov's entrance. Both

rushed to him. But he stood like one dead; a sudden intolerable

sensation struck him like a thunderbolt. He did not lift his arms

to embrace them, he could not. His mother and sister clasped him

in their arms, kissed him, laughed and cried. He took a step,

tottered and fell to the ground, fainting.

Anxiety, cries of horror, moans... Razumihin who was standing in

the doorway flew into the room, seized the sick man in his strong

arms and in a moment had him on the sofa.

"It's nothing, nothing!" he cried to the mother and sister--"it's

only a faint, a mere trifle! Only just now the doctor said he was

much better, that he is perfectly well! Water! See, he is coming

to himself, he is all right again!"