once to come to an
understanding with that man and to make what terms he could. Walking
outside the city gates one day, he positively fancied that they had
fixed a meeting there, that he was waiting for Svidrigailov. Another
time he woke up before daybreak lying on the ground under some bushes
and could not at first understand how he had come there.

But during the two or three days after Katerina Ivanovna's death, he
had two or three times met Svidrigailov at Sonia's lodging, where he
had gone aimlessly for a moment. They exchanged a few words and made no
reference to the vital subject, as though they were tacitly agreed not
to speak of it for a time.

Katerina Ivanovna's body was still lying in the coffin, Svidrigailov was
busy making arrangements for the funeral. Sonia too was very busy. At
their last meeting Svidrigailov informed Raskolnikov that he had made
an arrangement, and a very satisfactory one, for Katerina Ivanovna's
children; that he had, through certain connections, succeeded in getting
hold of certain personages by whose help the three orphans could be at
once placed in very suitable institutions; that the money he had settled
on them had been of great assistance, as it is much easier to place
orphans with some property than destitute ones. He said something
too about Sonia and promised to come himself in a day or two to see
Raskolnikov, mentioning that "he would like to consult with him, that
there were things they must talk over...."

This conversation took place in the passage on the stairs. Svidrigailov
looked intently at Raskolnikov and suddenly, after a brief pause,
dropping his voice, asked: "But how is it, Rodion Romanovitch; you
don't seem yourself? You look and you listen, but you don't seem to
understand. Cheer up! We'll talk things over; I am only sorry, I've
so much to do of my own business and other people's. Ah, Rodion
Romanovitch," he added suddenly, "what all men need is fresh air, fresh
air... more than anything!"

He moved to one side to make way for the priest and server, who
were coming up the stairs. They had come for the requiem service. By
Svidrigailov's orders it was sung twice a day punctually. Svidrigailov
went his way. Raskolnikov stood still a moment, thought, and followed
the priest into Sonia's room. He stood at the door. They began quietly,
slowly and mournfully singing the service. From his childhood the
thought of death and the presence of death had something oppress