of form there are some questions I shall have to ask
you... so we shall meet again, shan't we?"

And Porfiry stood still, facing him with a smile.

"Shan't we?" he added again.

He seemed to want to say something more, but could not speak out.

"You must forgive me, Porfiry Petrovitch, for what has just passed... I
lost my temper," began Raskolnikov, who had so far regained his courage
that he felt irresistibly inclined to display his coolness.

"Don't mention it, don't mention it," Porfiry replied, almost gleefully.
"I myself, too... I have a wicked temper, I admit it! But we shall meet
again. If it's God's will, we may see a great deal of one another."

"And will get to know each other through and through?" added
Raskolnikov.

"Yes; know each other through and through," assented Porfiry Petrovitch,
and he screwed up his eyes, looking earnestly at Raskolnikov. "Now
you're going to a birthday party?"

"To a funeral."

"Of course, the funeral! Take care of yourself, and get well."

"I don't know what to wish you," said Raskolnikov, who had begun to
descend the stairs, but looked back again. "I should like to wish you
success, but your office is such a comical one."

"Why comical?" Porfiry Petrovitch had turned to go, but he seemed to
prick up his ears at this.

"Why, how you must have been torturing and harassing that poor Nikolay
psychologically, after your fashion, till he confessed! You must have
been at him day and night, proving to him that he was the murderer, and
now that he has confessed, you'll begin vivisecting him again. 'You are
lying,' you'll say. 'You are not the murderer! You can't be! It's not
your own tale you are telling!' You must admit it's a comical business!"

"He-he-he! You noticed then that I said to Nikolay just now that it was
not his own tale he was telling?"

"How could I help noticing it!"

"He-he! You are quick-witted. You notice everything! You've really a
playful mind! And you always fasten on the comic side... he-he! They say
that was the marked characteristic of Gogol, among the writers."

"Yes, of Gogol."

"Yes, of Gogol.... I shall look forward to meeting you."

"So shall I."

Raskolnikov walked straight home. He was so muddled and bewildered that
on getting home he sat for a quarter of an hour on the sofa, trying to
collect his thoughts. He did not attempt to think about Nikolay; he
was stupefied; he felt that his confession was something inexplicable,
amazing