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"I am a little giddy, but that's not the point, I am so sad, so

sad... like a woman. Look, what's that? Look, look!"

"What is it?"

"Don't you see? A light in my room, you see? Through the

crack..."

They were already at the foot of the last flight of stairs, at

the level of the landlady's door, and they could, as a fact, see

from below that there was a light in Raskolnikov's garret.

"Queer! Nastasya, perhaps," observed Razumihin.

"She is never in my room at this time and she must be in bed long

ago, but... I don't care! Good-bye!"

"What do you mean? I am coming with you, we'll come in together!"

"I know we are going in together, but I want to shake hands here

and say good-bye to you here. So give me your hand, good-bye!"

"What's the matter with you, Rodya?"

"Nothing... come along... you shall be witness."

They began mounting the stairs, and the idea struck Razumihin

that perhaps Zossimov might be right after all. "Ah, I've upset

him with my chatter!" he muttered to himself.