though
he were a little put out and could not yet recover himself. Pulcheria
Alexandrovna, who seemed also a little embarrassed, hastened to make
them all sit down at the round table where a samovar was boiling. Dounia
and Luzhin were facing one another on opposite sides of the table.
Razumihin and Raskolnikov were facing Pulcheria Alexandrovna, Razumihin
was next to Luzhin and Raskolnikov was beside his sister.

A moment's silence followed. Pyotr Petrovitch deliberately drew out a
cambric handkerchief reeking of scent and blew his nose with an air of
a benevolent man who felt himself slighted, and was firmly resolved to
insist on an explanation. In the passage the idea had occurred to him to
keep on his overcoat and walk away, and so give the two ladies a sharp
and emphatic lesson and make them feel the gravity of the position.
But he could not bring himself to do this. Besides, he could not endure
uncertainty, and he wanted an explanation: if his request had been so
openly disobeyed, there was something behind it, and in that case it was
better to find it out beforehand; it rested with him to punish them and
there would always be time for that.

"I trust you had a favourable journey," he inquired officially of
Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

"Oh, very, Pyotr Petrovitch."

"I am gratified to hear it. And Avdotya Romanovna is not over-fatigued
either?"

"I am young and strong, I don't get tired, but it was a great strain for
mother," answered Dounia.

"That's unavoidable! our national railways are of terrible length.
'Mother Russia,' as they say, is a vast country.... In spite of all my
desire to do so, I was unable to meet you yesterday. But I trust all
passed off without inconvenience?"

"Oh, no, Pyotr Petrovitch, it was all terribly disheartening," Pulcheria
Alexandrovna hastened to declare with peculiar intonation, "and if
Dmitri Prokofitch had not been sent us, I really believe by God Himself,
we should have been utterly lost. Here, he is! Dmitri Prokofitch
Razumihin," she added, introducing him to Luzhin.

"I had the pleasure... yesterday," muttered Pyotr Petrovitch with a
hostile glance sidelong at Razumihin; then he scowled and was silent.

Pyotr Petrovitch belonged to that class of persons, on the surface very
polite in society, who make a great point of punctiliousness, but who,
directly they are crossed in anything, are completely disconcerted, and
become more like sacks of flour than elegant and lively m