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"But why, my good sir, all of a minute.... What is it?" she

asked, looking at the pledge.

"The silver cigarette case; I spoke of it last time, you know."

She held out her hand.

"But how pale you are, to be sure... and your hands are trembling

too? Have you been bathing, or what?"

"Fever," he answered abruptly. "You can't help getting pale... if

you've nothing to eat," he added, with difficulty articulating

the words.

His strength was failing him again. But his answer sounded like

the truth; the old woman took the pledge.

"What is it?" she asked once more, scanning Raskolnikov intently,

and weighing the pledge in her hand.

"A thing... cigarette case.... Silver.... Look at it."

"It does not seem somehow like silver.... How he has wrapped it

up!"