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〃Ah； so that is it！〃 he thought。
〃And what does God do for you？〃 he asked； probing her further。
Sonia was silent a long while； as though she could not answer。 Her
weak chest kept heaving with emotion。
〃Be silent！ Don't ask！ You don't deserve！〃 she cried suddenly；
looking sternly and wrathfully at him。
〃That's it； that's it；〃 he repeated to himself。
〃He does everything；〃 she whispered quickly； looking down again。
〃That's the way out！ That's the explanation；〃 he decided；
scrutinising her with eager curiosity； with a new； strange； almost
morbid feeling。 He gazed at that pale； thin； irregular； angular little
face； those soft blue eyes； which could flash with such fire； such
stern energy； that little body still shaking with indignation and
anger… and it all seemed to him more and more strange； almost
impossible。 〃She is a religious maniac！〃 he repeated to himself。
There was a book lying on the chest of drawers。 He had noticed it
every time he paced up and down the room。 Now he took it up and looked
at it。 It was the New Testament in the Russian translation。 It was
bound in leather； old and worn。
〃Where did you get that？〃 he called to her across the room。
She was still standing in the same place； three steps from the
table。
〃It was brought me；〃 she answered； as it were unwillingly； not
looking at him。
〃Who brought it？〃
〃Lizaveta； I asked her for it。〃
〃Lizaveta！ strange！〃 he thought。
Everything about Sonia seemed to him stranger and more wonderful
every moment。 He carried the book to the candle and began to turn over
the pages。
〃Where is the story of Lazarus？〃 he asked suddenly。
Sonia looked obstinately at the ground and would not answer。 She was
standing sideways to the table。
〃Where is the raising of Lazarus？ Find it for me； Sonia。〃
She stole a glance at him。
〃You are not looking in the right place。。。。 It's in the fourth
gospel；〃 she whispered sternly； without looking at him。
〃Find it and read it to me；〃 he said。 He sat down with his elbow
on the table； leaned his head on his hand and looked away sullenly；
prepared to listen。
〃In three weeks' time they'll welcome me in the madhouse！ I shall be
there if I am not in a worse place；〃 he muttered to himself。
Sonia heard Raskolnikov's request distrustfully and moved
hesitatingly to the table。 She took the book however。
〃Haven't you read it？〃 she asked； looking up at him across the
table。
Her voice became sterner and sterner。
〃Long ago。。。。 When I was at school。 Read！〃
〃And haven't you heard it in church？〃
〃I。。。 haven't been。 Do you often go？〃
〃N…no；〃 whispered Sonia。
Raskolnikov smiled。
〃I understand。。。。 And you won't go to your father's funeral
to…morrow？〃
〃Yes； I shall。 I was at church last week； too。。。 I had a requiem
service。〃
〃For whom？〃
〃For Lizaveta。 She was killed with an axe。〃
His nerves were more and more strained。 His head began to go round。
〃Were you friends with Lizaveta？〃
〃Yes。。。。 She was good。。。 she used to come。。。 not often。。。 she
couldn't。。。。 We used to read together and。。。 talk。 She will see God。〃
The last phrase sounded strange in his ears。 And here was
something new again： the mysterious meetings with Lizaveta and both of
them… religious maniacs。
〃I shall be a religious maniac myself soon！ It's infectious！〃
〃Read！〃 he cried irritably and insistently。
Sonia still hesitated。 Her heart was throbbing。 She hardly dared
to read to him。 He looked almost with exasperation at the 〃unhappy
lunatic。〃
〃What for？ You don't believe？。。。〃 she whispered softly and as it
were breathlessly。
〃Read！ I want you to；〃 he persisted。 〃You used to read to Lizaveta。〃
Sonia opened the book and found the place。 Her hands were shaking；
her voice failed her。 Twice she tried to begin and could not bring out
the first syllable。
〃Now a certain man was sick named Lazarus of Bethany。。。〃 she
forced herself at last to read； but at the third word her voice
broke like an overstrained string。 There was a catch in her breath。
Raskolnikov saw in part why Sonia could not bring herself to read to
him and the more he saw this； the more roughly and irritably he
insisted on her doing so。 He understood only too well how painful it
was for her to betray and unveil all that was her own。 He understood
that these feelings really were her secret treasure； which she had
kept perhaps for years； perhaps from childhood； while she lived with
an unhappy father and a distracted stepmother crazed by grief； in
the midst of starving children and unseemly abuse and reproaches。
But at the same time he knew now and knew for certain that； although
it filled her with dread and suffering； yet she had a tormenting
desire to read and to read to him that he might hear it； and to read
now whatever might come of it！。。。 He read this in her eyes； he could
see it in her intense emotion。 She mastered herself； controlled the
spasm in her throat and went on reading the eleventh chapter of St。
John。 She went