"_Batuchka!_ not so loud, I must request! Someone will hear you, someone may come; and then, what shall we say? Just reflect one moment!" murmured Porphyrius Petrovitch, whose face had approached that of his visitor. "I will not permit it, I will not permit it!" mechanically pursued Raskolnikoff, but in a minor key, so as to be heard by Porphyrius only. The latter moved away to open the window. "Let us air the room! Supposing you were to drink some water, dear friend? You have had a slight fit!" He was on the point of going to the door to give his orders to a servant, when he saw a water bottle in a corner. "Drink, _batuchka_!" he murmured, whilst approaching the young man with the bottle, "that may do you some good." Porphyrius's fright seemed so natural that Raskolnikoff remained silent whilst examining him with curiosity. He refused, however, the proffered water. "Rodion Romanovitch! My dear friend! If you go on in this way, you will go mad, I am positive! Drink, pray, if only a few drops!" He almost forced the glass of water into his hand. Raskolnikoff raised it mechanically to his lips, when suddenly he thought better of it, and replaced it on the table with disgust. "Yes, yes, you have had a slight fit. One or two more, my friend, and you will have another attack of your malady," observed the magistrate in the kindest tone of voice, appearing greatly agitated. "Is it possible that people can take so little care of themselves? It was the same with Dmitri Prokofitch, who called here yesterday. I admit mine to be a caustic temperament, that mine is a horrid disposition, but that such a meaning could possibly be attributed to harmless remarks. He called here yesterday, when you had gone, and in the course of dinner he talked, talked. You had sent him, had you not? But do sit down, _batuchka!_ do sit down, for heaven's sake!" "I did not indeed!--although I knew that he had called, and his object in doing so!" replied Raskolnikoff dryly. "Did you really know why?" "I did. And what did you gather from it?"