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sometimes thought that he would be very much afraid。 But he was not
very much afraid now； was not afraid at all； indeed。 His mind was even
occupied by irrelevant matters； but by nothing for long。 As he
passed the Yusupov garden； he was deeply absorbed in considering the
building of great fountains； and of their refreshing effect on the
atmosphere in all the squares。 By degrees he passed to the
conviction that if the summer garden were extended to the field of
Mars； and perhaps joined to the garden of the Mihailovsky Palace； it
would be a splendid thing and a great benefit to the town。 Then he was
interested by the question why in all great towns men are not simply
driven by necessity； but in some peculiar way inclined to live in
those parts of the town where there are no gardens nor fountains；
where there is most dirt and smell and all sorts of nastiness。 Then
his own walks through the Hay Market came back to his mind； and for
a moment he waked up to reality。 〃What nonsense！〃 he thought；
〃better think of nothing at all！〃
〃So probably men led to execution clutch mentally at every object
that meets them on the way；〃 flashed through his mind； but simply
flashed； like lightning； he made haste to dismiss this thought。。。。 And
by now he was near； here was the house； here was the gate。 Suddenly
a clock somewhere struck once。 〃What！ can it be half…past seven？
Impossible； it must be fast！〃
Luckily for him； everything went well again at the gates。 At that
very moment； as though expressly for his benefit； a huge waggon of hay
had just driven in at the gate； completely screening him as he
passed under the gateway； and the waggon had scarcely had time to
drive through into the yard； before he had slipped in a flash to the
right。 On the other side of the waggon he could hear shouting and
quarrelling； but no one noticed him and no one met him。 Many windows
looking into that huge quadrangular yard were open at that moment； but
he did not raise his head… he had not the strength to。 The staircase
leading to the old woman's room was close by； just on the right of the
gateway。 He was already on the stairs。。。。
Drawing a breath； pressing his hand against his throbbing heart； and
once more feeling for the axe and setting it straight； he began softly
and cautiously ascending the stairs； listening every minute。 But the
stairs； too； were quite deserted； all the doors were shut； he met no
one。 One flat indeed on the first floor was wide open and painters
were at work in it； but they did not glance at him。 He stood still；
thought a minute and went on。 〃Of course it would be better if they
had not been here； but。。。 it's two storeys above them。〃
And there was the fourth storey； here was the door； here was the
flat opposite； the empty one。 The flat underneath the old woman's
was apparently empty also； the visiting card nailed on the door had
been torn off… they had gone away！。。。 He was out of breath。 For one
instant the thought floated through his mind 〃Shall I go back？〃 But he
made no answer and began listening at the old woman's door； a dead
silence。 Then he listened again on the staircase； listened long and
intently。。。 then looked about him for the last time； pulled himself
together； drew himself up； and once more tried the axe in the noose。
〃Am I very pale？〃 he wondered。 〃Am I not evidently agitated？ She is
mistrustful。。。。 Had I better wait a little longer。。。 till my heart
leaves off thumping？〃
But his heart did not leave off。 On the contrary； as though to spite
him； it throbbed more and more violently。 He could stand it no longer；
he slowly put out his hand to the bell and rang。 Half a minute later
he rang again； more loudly。
No answer。 To go on ringing was useless and out of place。 The old
woman was； of course； at home； but she was suspicious and alone。 He
had some knowledge of her habits。。。 and once more he put his ear to
the door。 Either his senses were peculiarly keen （which it is
difficult to suppose）； or the sound was really very distinct。
Anyway； he suddenly heard something like the cautious touch of a
hand on the lock and the rustle of a skirt at the very door。 Some
one was standing stealthily close to the lock and just as he was doing
on the outside was secretly listening within； and seemed to have her
ear to the door。。。。 He moved a little on purpose and muttered
something aloud that he might not have the appearance of hiding；
then rang a third time； but quietly； soberly and without impatience；
Recalling it afterwards； that moment stood out in his mind vividly；
distinctly； forever； he could not make out how he had had such
cunning； for his mind was as it were clouded at moments and he was
almost unconscious of his body。。。。 An instant later he heard the latch
unfastened。
Chapter Seven
THE DOOR was as before opened a tiny crack； and again two sharp
and suspicious eyes stared at him out of the darkness。 Then
Raskolnikov lost his head and nearly made a great mistake。
Fearing the old woman would be frightened by their being alone；
and not hoping that the sight of him would disarm her suspicions； he
took hold of the door and drew it towards him to prevent the old woman
from attempting to shut it again。 Seeing this she did not pull the
door back； but she did not let go the handle so that he almost dragged
her out with it on to the stairs。 Seeing that she was standing in
the doorway not allowing him to pass； he advanced straight upon her。
She stepped back in alarm； tried to say something； but seemed unable
to speak and stared with open eyes at him。
〃Good evening； Alyona Ivanovna；〃 he began； trying to speak easily；
but his voice would not obey him； it broke and shook。 〃I have
come。。。 I have brought something。。。 but we'd better come in。。。 to
the light。。。。〃
And leavi