“I am very weak at this moment, but⁠ ⁠… I believe my illness is all over. I knew it would be over when I went out. By the way, Potchinkov’s house is only a few steps away. I certainly must go to Razumihin even if it were not close by⁠ ⁠… let him win his bet! Let us give him some satisfaction, too⁠—no matter! Strength, strength is what one wants, you can get nothing without it, and strength must be won by strength⁠—that’s what they don’t know,” he added proudly and self-confidently and he walked with flagging footsteps from the bridge. Pride and self-confidence grew continually stronger in him; he was becoming a different man every moment. What was it had happened to work this revolution in him? He did not know himself; like a man catching at a straw, he suddenly felt that he, too, “could live, that there was still life for him, that his life had not died with the old woman.” Perhaps he was in too great a hurry with his conclusions, but he did not think of that.

“But I did ask her to remember ‘Thy servant Rodion’ in her prayers,” the idea struck him. “Well, that was⁠ ⁠… in case of emergency,” he added and laughed himself at his boyish sally. He was in the best of spirits.