"Is there anything you want? You stay here, I will bring it."
"No, I will go. I am going at once," murmured he, rising to his feet.
"Very well."
She went out after the porter. As soon as she had disappeared, he rushed to the light to look at his boot. Yes, there were spots, but not very plain, all covered with mud. But who would distinguish them? Nastasia could know nothing, thank heavens! Then with trembling hand he tore open the notice, and began to read. At last he understood; it was simply the usual notice to report himself at the office of the district that day at half-past nine o'clock.
"But why to-day?" cried he. "Lord, let it be over soon." He was about to fall down on his knees to pray, when a fit of laughter seized him. "I must trust to myself, not to prayers." He quickly dressed himself. "Shall I put the boot on?" he thought, "better throw it away, and hide all traces of it." Nevertheless he put it on, only, however, to throw it off again with an expression of horror. As, however, he recollected he had no other, a smile came to his face, and he drew it on once more. Again his face changed into deep despair, his limbs shook more and more. "This is not from exertion," thought he, "it is fear." His head spun round and round and his temples throbbed visibly.
On the stairs he recollected that all the things were in the hole in the wall, and then where was his certificate of birth? He stopped to think. But such despair, and, if it may be so called, cynicism, took hold of him, that he simply shook his head and went out. The sooner over, the better. Once again in the open air, he encountered the same insufferable heat, the dust, and the people in drink rolling about the streets. The sun caught him full in the eyes and almost blinded him, while his head spun round and round, as is usual in fever. On reaching the turning into the street he had taken the day before, he glanced in great agitation in the direction of the house, but immediately averted his eyes again. "If they ask me, I should confess, perhaps," said he to himself, as he turned away and made for the office. This was not far distant, in a new house, on the fourth floor. As he entered the court, he saw to the right of him a staircase, ascending which was a man carrying some books. "It was evidently there." He did not think of asking.
"I will go and fall on my knees and confess all," he murmured, and began to ascend the narrow and very steep stairs. On every floor the doors of the kitchens of the several apartments stood open to the staircase, and emitted a suffocating, sickening odor. The entrance to the office he was in search of was also wide open, and he walked in. A number of persons were waiting in the anteroom. The stench was simply intolerable, and was intensified by the smell of fresh paint. Pausing a little, he decided to advance farther into the small low room. He became impatient when he found no one took any notice of him. In an inner room were seated a number of clerks engaged in writing. He went up to one of these.
"What do you want?" Raskolnikoff showed him the notice.
"You are a student?" asked a clerk, glancing at the notice.
"Yes;—that is, I used to be."