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Come to the police station, I'll tell you." The workmen looked at him in amazement. "It's time for us to go, we are late. Come along, Alyoshka. We must lock up," said the elder workman. "Very well, come along," said Raskolnikov indifferently, and going out first, he went slowly downstairs. "Hey, porter," he cried in the gateway.
"I shall be opening and shutting the gates all night.... What are you crying for, Alyoshka?" "He is frightened," the coachman answered for his grandson. Again there was the sound of a wailing voice in the air. The porter said: "They are crying. The mother can't believe her eyes.... It's dreadful how upset she is." "And is the father there?" "Yes.... The father is all right.
The cook who had run about the yard wailing in the morning was now standing on a chair, stretching up to try and cover the looking glass with a towel. "Grandfather what are they doing?" asked Alyoshka in a whisper. "They are just going to lay him on the tables," answered his grandfather. "Let us go, child, it is bedtime." The coachman and Alyoshka went back to the coach-house.
"The kingdom of heaven and eternal peace to him!" whispered the coachman, and he crossed himself. Looking at him, Alyoshka crossed himself too. "You can't pray for such as him," said the fish-hawker. "Why not?" "It's a sin." "That's true," the porter assented. "Now his soul has gone straight to hell, to the devil...."
When Alyoshka dreamed of the gentleman and, frightened by his eyes, jumped up and burst out crying, it was morning, his grandfather was snoring, and the coach-house no longer seemed terrible. DURING all the years I have been living in this world I have only three times been terrified.
And we shall have no mercy on you! If you get away from us today, we shall begin again to-morrow. Alyoshka, where's the knife?" "David Yegoritch," wailed Vassily, "don't commit murder.... What are you doing! The watch ... I certainly ... I was joking. I'll give it to you this minute. What a thing, to be sure! First you are going to slit Hrisanf Lukitch's belly, then mine.
He sits in the corner and says nothing. They have taken the children to relations.... Well, Stepan, shall we have a game of trumps?" "Yes," the coachman agreed, scratching himself, "and you, Alyoshka, go to sleep. Almost big enough to be married, and blubbering, you rascal. Come, go along, grandson, go along...." The presence of the porter reassured Alyoshka.
"I went away without hearing what he was telling about Mashenka," said Varvara, making herself a bed under the window. "She died in prison, he said. She poisoned her husband." Varvara lay down beside Sofya a while, and said softly: "I'd make away with my Alyoshka and never regret it." "You talk nonsense; God forgive you."
Stepan the coachman, Mihailo the house-porter, Alyoshka the coachman's grandson, who had come up from the village to stay with his grandfather, and Nikandr, an old man of seventy, who used to come into the yard every evening to sell salt herrings, were sitting round a lantern in the big coach-house, playing "kings."
It was cold and damp, there was water in the grave, the convicts were laughing. The sea was in sight. Alyoshka looked into the grave with curiosity; he tried to wipe his chilly nose, but the long sleeve of his jacket got into his way. When they began to fill in the grave I asked him: "Alyoshka, where is your mother?"
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