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"You're trembling, too, Porfiry Petrovitch!"

"Yes, I am; I didn't expect it."

They were already at the door; Porfiry was impatient for

Raskolnikov to be gone.

"And your little surprise, aren't you going to show it to me?"

Raskolnikov said, sarcastically.

"Why, his teeth are chattering as he asks, he-he! You are an

ironical person! Come, till we meet!"

"I believe we can say good-bye!"

"That's in God's hands," muttered Porfiry, with an unnatural

smile.

As he walked through the office, Raskolnikov noticed that many

people were looking at him. Among them he saw the two porters

from the house, whom he had invited that night to the police

station. They stood there waiting. But he was no sooner on the

stairs than he heard the voice of Porfiry Petrovitch behind him.

Turning round, he saw the latter running after him, out of

breath.