"I say, brother," he said suddenly, addressing Razumihin, with a sly smile, "I have been noticing all day that you seem to be curiously excited.
Isn't it so?"
"Excited?
Not a bit of it," said Razumihin, stung to the quick.
"Yes, brother, I assure you it's noticeable.
Why, you sat on your chair in a way you never do sit, on the edge somehow, and you seemed to be writhing all the time.
You kept jumping up for nothing.
One moment you were angry, and the next your face looked like a sweetmeat.
You even blushed; especially when you were invited to dinner, you blushed awfully."
"Nothing of the sort, nonsense!
What do you mean?"
"But why are you wriggling out of it, like a schoolboy?
By Jove, there he's blushing again."
"What a pig you are!"
"But why are you so shamefaced about it?
Romeo!
Stay, I'll tell of you to-day. Ha-ha-ha!
I'll make mother laugh, and someone else, too..."
"Listen, listen, listen, this is serious.... What next, you fiend!"
Razumihin was utterly overwhelmed, turning cold with horror.
"What will you tell them?
Come, brother... foo! what a pig you are!"
"You are like a summer rose.
And if only you knew how it suits you; a Romeo over six foot high!
And how you've washed to-day--you cleaned your nails, I declare. Eh?
That's something unheard of!
Why, I do believe you've got pomatum on your hair!
Bend down."
"Pig!"
Raskolnikov laughed as though he could not restrain himself. So laughing, they entered Porfiry Petrovitch's flat.
This is what Raskolnikov wanted: from within they could be heard laughing as they came in, still guffawing in the passage.
"Not a word here or I'll... brain you!" Razumihin whispered furiously, seizing Raskolnikov by the shoulder.
CHAPTER V
Raskolnikov was already entering the room.
He came in looking as though he had the utmost difficulty not to burst out laughing again.
Behind him Razumihin strode in gawky and awkward, shamefaced and red as a peony, with an utterly crestfallen and ferocious expression.
His face and whole figure really were ridiculous at that moment and amply justified Raskolnikov's laughter.
Raskolnikov, not waiting for an introduction, bowed to Porfiry Petrovitch, who stood in the middle of the room looking inquiringly at them. He held out his hand and shook hands, still apparently making desperate efforts to subdue his mirth and utter a few words to introduce himself.
But he had no sooner succeeded in assuming a serious air and muttering something when he suddenly glanced again as though accidentally at Razumihin, and could no longer control himself: his stifled laughter broke out the more irresistibly the more he tried to restrain it.
The extraordinary ferocity with which Razumihin received this "spontaneous" mirth gave the whole scene the appearance of most genuine fun and naturalness.
Razumihin strengthened this impression as though on purpose.
"Fool! You fiend," he roared, waving his arm which at once struck a little round table with an empty tea-glass on it.
Everything was sent flying and crashing.
"But why break chairs, gentlemen? You know it's a loss to the Crown," Porfiry Petrovitch quoted gaily.
Raskolnikov was still laughing, with his hand in Porfiry Petrovitch's, but anxious not to overdo it, awaited the right moment to put a natural end to it.
Razumihin, completely put to confusion by upsetting the table and smashing the glass, gazed gloomily at the fragments, cursed and turned sharply to the window where he stood looking out with his back to the company with a fiercely scowling countenance, seeing nothing.
Porfiry Petrovitch laughed and was ready to go on laughing, but obviously looked for explanations.
Zametov had been sitting in the corner, but he rose at the visitors' entrance and was standing in expectation with a smile on his lips, though he looked with surprise and even it seemed incredulity at the whole scene and at Raskolnikov with a certain embarrassment.
Zametov's unexpected presence struck Raskolnikov unpleasantly.
"I've got to think of that," he thought.