God! why was it shed? But ... Fenya ...
there's a fence here" (he looked at her as though setting her a riddle),
"a high fence, and terrible to look at. But at dawn to-morrow, when the
sun rises, Mitya will leap over that fence.... You don't understand what
fence, Fenya, and, never mind.... You'll hear to-morrow and understand ...
and now, good-by. I won't stand in her way. I'll step aside, I know how to
step aside. Live, my joy.... You loved me for an hour, remember Mityenka
Karamazov so for ever.... She always used to call me Mityenka, do you
remember?"

And with those words he went suddenly out of the kitchen. Fenya was almost
more frightened at this sudden departure than she had been when he ran in
and attacked her.

Just ten minutes later Dmitri went in to Pyotr Ilyitch Perhotin, the young
official with whom he had pawned his pistols. It was by now half-past
eight, and Pyotr Ilyitch had finished his evening tea, and had just put
his coat on again to go to the "Metropolis" to play billiards. Mitya
caught him coming out.

Seeing him with his face all smeared with blood, the young man uttered a
cry of surprise.

"Good heavens! What is the matter?"

"I've come for my pistols," said Mitya, "and brought you the money. And
thanks very much. I'm in a hurry, Pyotr Ilyitch, please make haste."

Pyotr Ilyitch grew more and more surprised; he suddenly caught sight of a
bundle of bank-notes in Mitya's hand, and what was more, he had walked in
holding the notes as no one walks in and no one carries money: he had them
in his right hand, and held them outstretched as if to show them.
Perhotin's servant-boy, who met Mitya in the passage, said afterwards that
he walked into the passage in the same way, with the money outstretched in
his hand, so he must have been carrying them like that even in the
streets. They were all rainbow-colored hundred-rouble notes, and the
fingers holding them were covered with blood.

When Pyotr Ilyitch was questioned later on as to the sum of money, he said
that it was difficult to judge at a glance, but that it might have been
two thousand, or perhaps three, but it was a big, "fat" bundle. "Dmitri
Fyodorovitch," so he testified afterwards, "seemed unlike himself, too;
not drunk, but, as it were, exalted, lost to everything, but at the same
time, as it were, absorbed, as though pondering and searching for
something and unable to come to a decision. He was in great haste,
answered abruptly and ve