Pulcheria Alexandrovna glanced at Sonia, and slightly screwed up her eyes. In spite of her embarrassment before Rodya’s urgent and challenging look, she could not deny herself that satisfaction. Dounia gazed gravely and intently into the poor girl’s face, and scrutinised her with perplexity. Sonia, hearing herself introduced, tried to raise her eyes again, but was more embarrassed than ever.
“I wanted to ask you,” said Raskolnikov, hastily, “how things were arranged yesterday. You were not worried by the police, for instance?”
“No, that was all right … it was too evident, the cause of death … they did not worry us … only the lodgers are angry.”
“Why?”
“At the body’s remaining so long. You see it is hot now. So that, today, they will carry it to the cemetery, into the chapel, until tomorrow. At first Katerina Ivanovna was unwilling, but now she sees herself that it’s necessary …”
“Today, then?”
“She begs you to do us the honour to be in the church tomorrow for the service, and then to be present at the funeral lunch.”
“She is giving a funeral lunch?”
“Yes … just a little. … She told me to thank you very much for helping us yesterday. But for you, we should have had nothing for the funeral.”
All at once her lips and chin began trembling, but, with an effort, she controlled herself, looking down again.
During the conversation, Raskolnikov watched her carefully. She had a thin, very thin, pale little face, rather irregular and angular, with a sharp