I was with someone I loved, with you.
And far, far away. I was holding you and kissing you, nestling close to you. I was cold, and the snow glistened.... You know how the snow glistens at night when the moon shines. It was as though I was not on earth. I woke up, and my dear one is close to me. How sweet that is!..."
"Close to you," murmured Mitya, kissing her dress, her bosom, her hands.
And suddenly he had a strange fancy: it seemed to him that she was looking straight before her, not at him, not into his face, but over his head, with an intent, almost uncanny fixity.
An expression of wonder, almost of alarm, came suddenly into her face.
"Mitya, who is that looking at us?" she whispered.
Mitya turned, and saw that someone had, in fact, parted the curtains and seemed to be watching them.
And not one person alone, it seemed.
He jumped up and walked quickly to the intruder.
"Here, come to us, come here," said a voice, speaking not loudly, but firmly and peremptorily.
Mitya passed to the other side of the curtain and stood stock still.
The room was filled with people, but not those who had been there before.
An instantaneous shiver ran down his back, and he shuddered.
He recognised all those people instantly.
That tall, stout old man in the overcoat and forage-cap with a cockade- was the police captain, Mihail Makarovitch.
And that "consumptive-looking" trim dandy,"who always has such polished boots"- that was the deputy prosecutor.
"He has a chronometer worth four hundred roubles; he showed it to me."
And that small young man in spectacles.... Mitya forgot his surname though he knew him, had seen him: he was the "investigating lawyer," from the "school of jurisprudence," who had only lately come to the town.
And this man- the inspector of police, Mavriky Mavrikyevitch, a man he knew well.
And those fellows with the brass plates on, why are they here?
And those other two... peasants.... And there at the door Kalganov with Trifon Borissovitch....
"Gentlemen! What's this for, gentlemen?" began Mitya, but suddenly, as though beside himself, not knowing what he was doing, he cried aloud, at the top of his voice:
"I un-der-stand!"
The young man in spectacles moved forward suddenly, and stepping up to Mitya, began with dignity, though hurriedly:
"We have to make... in brief, I beg you to come this way, this way to the sofa.... It is absolutely imperative that you should give an explanation."
"The old man!" cried Mitya frantically. "The old man and his blood!...
I understand."
And he sank, almost fell, on a chair close by, as though he had been mown down by a scythe.
"You understand?
He understands it!
Monster and parricide! Your father's blood cries out against you!" the old captain of police roared suddenly, stepping up to Mitya.
He was beside himself, crimson in the face and quivering all over.
"This is impossible!" cried the small young man. "Mihail Makarovitch, Mihail Makarovitch, this won't do!...
I beg you'll allow me to speak. I should never have expected such behaviour from you..."
"This is delirium, gentlemen, raving delirium," cried the captain of police; "look at him: drunk, at this time of night, in the company of a disreputable woman, with the blood of his father on his hands....
It's delirium!..."
"I beg you most earnestly, dear Mihail Makarovitch, to restrain your feelings," the prosecutor said in a rapid whisper to the old police captain, "or I shall be forced to resort to- "
But the little lawyer did not allow him to finish. He turned to Mitya, and delivered himself in a loud, firm, dignified voice:
"Ex-Lieutenant Karamazov, it is my duty to inform you that you are charged with the murder of your father, Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov, perpetrated this night..."
He said something more, and the prosecutor, too, put in something, but though Mitya heard them he did not understand them.
He stared at them all with wild eyes.
Book IX.
The Preliminary Investigation
Chapter 1.
The Beginning of Perhotin's Official Career
PYOTR ILYITCH PERHOTIN, whom we left knocking at the strong locked gates of the widow Morozov's house, ended, of course, by making himself heard.
Fenya, who was still excited by the fright she had had two hours before, and too much "upset" to go to bed, was almost frightened into hysterics on hearing the furious knocking at the gate. Though she had herself seen him drive away, she fancied that it must be Dmitri Fyodorovitch knocking again, no one else could knock so savagely.
She ran to the house-porter, who had already waked up and gone out to the gate, and began imploring him not to open it.
But having questioned Pyotr Ilyitch, and learned that he wanted to see Fenya on very "important business," the man made up his mind at last to open.
Pyotr Ilyitch was admitted into Fenya's kitchen, but the girl begged him to allow the houseporter to be present, "because of her misgivings." He began questioning her and at once learnt the most vital fact, that is, that when Dmitri Fyodorovitch had run out to look for Grushenka, he had snatched up a pestle from the mortar, and that when he returned, the pestle was not with him and his hands were smeared with blood.