"What an excellent man!" observed Pulcheria Alexandrovna.
"Yes, excellent, splendid, well-educated, intelligent," Raskolnikov began, suddenly speaking with surprising rapidity, and a liveliness he had not shown till then. "I can't remember where I met him before my illness....
I believe I have met him somewhere----...
And this is a good man, too," he nodded at Razumihin. "Do you like him, Dounia?" he asked her; and suddenly, for some unknown reason, laughed.
"Very much," answered Dounia.
"Foo!--what a pig you are!" Razumihin protested, blushing in terrible confusion, and he got up from his chair.
Pulcheria Alexandrovna smiled faintly, but Raskolnikov laughed aloud.
"Where are you off to?"
"I must go."
"You need not at all. Stay.
Zossimov has gone, so you must.
Don't go.
What's the time?
Is it twelve o'clock?
What a pretty watch you have got, Dounia.
But why are you all silent again?
I do all the talking."
"It was a present from Marfa Petrovna," answered Dounia.
"And a very expensive one!" added Pulcheria Alexandrovna.
"A-ah! What a big one! Hardly like a lady's."
"I like that sort," said Dounia.
"So it is not a present from her _fiance_," thought Razumihin, and was unreasonably delighted.
"I thought it was Luzhin's present," observed Raskolnikov.
"No, he has not made Dounia any presents yet."
"A-ah!
And do you remember, mother, I was in love and wanted to get married?" he said suddenly, looking at his mother, who was disconcerted by the sudden change of subject and the way he spoke of it.
"Oh, yes, my dear."
Pulcheria Alexandrovna exchanged glances with Dounia and Razumihin.
"H'm, yes.
What shall I tell you?
I don't remember much indeed.
She was such a sickly girl," he went on, growing dreamy and looking down again. "Quite an invalid. She was fond of giving alms to the poor, and was always dreaming of a nunnery, and once she burst into tears when she began talking to me about it. Yes, yes, I remember.
I remember very well.
She was an ugly little thing. I really don't know what drew me to her then--I think it was because she was always ill.
If she had been lame or hunchback, I believe I should have liked her better still," he smiled dreamily.
"Yes, it was a sort of spring delirium." "No, it was not only spring delirium," said Dounia, with warm feeling.
He fixed a strained intent look on his sister, but did not hear or did not understand her words.
Then, completely lost in thought, he got up, went up to his mother, kissed her, went back to his place and sat down.
"You love her even now?" said Pulcheria Alexandrovna, touched.
"Her?
Now?
Oh, yes....
You ask about her?
No... that's all now, as it were, in another world... and so long ago.
And indeed everything happening here seems somehow far away."
He looked attentively at them.
"You, now... I seem to be looking at you from a thousand miles away... but, goodness knows why we are talking of that!
And what's the use of asking about it?" he added with annoyance, and biting his nails, fell into dreamy silence again.
"What a wretched lodging you have, Rodya! It's like a tomb," said Pulcheria Alexandrovna, suddenly breaking the oppressive silence. "I am sure it's quite half through your lodging you have become so melancholy."
"My lodging," he answered, listlessly.