LITMIR.BIZ

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jury were near him.

      While the jury were mounting the steps to the elevation where the desk stood, the priest wriggled his bald, hoary head through the opening of the stole, then rearranging his scanty hair, he turned to the jury:

      "Raise your right hands and keep your fingers thus," he said, in a slow, feeble voice, raising his bloated hand and pointing at his forehead with the first three of its dimpled fingers. "Now repeat after me: 'I promise and swear by the Almighty God, His Holy Gospel, and by the life-giving cross of our Lord, that in the case'"—he continued, resting after each phrase. "Don't drop your hand; hold it thus," he turned to a young man who let his hand fall—"'that in the case which——'"

      The portly, whiskered gentleman, the colonel, merchant and others held their hands as directed by the priest, and seemed to do so with particular pleasure, holding their hands quite high, and their fingers most proper; others seemed to do it against their will, and carelessly. Some repeated the words too loudly, in a provoking manner, with an expression on the face which seemed to say: "I will repeat as I please;" others whispered, fell behind the priest and then, as if frightened, hastened to catch up with him. Some held their fingers tightly closed, as if challenging anyone to part them; others, again, loosened them, now closed them again. After the jury was sworn, the presiding justice directed them to choose a foreman. They arose and, crowding each other, went into the consultation room, where almost every one produced cigarettes and began to smoke. Some one proposed the portly gentleman, who was immediately chosen, then they threw away their cigarettes and returned to the court. The gentleman declared to the presiding justice that he was chosen foreman, and stepping over the feet of each other, the jury again seated themselves in the two rows of high-backed chairs.

      Everything proceeded smoothly, quickly and not without solemnity, and the regularity, order and solemnity evidently pleased the participants, confirming their sense of rendering important public service. Nekhludoff also experienced this feeling.

      As soon as the jury seated themselves the presiding justice instructed them in their rights, duties and responsibilities. While speaking, he was constantly changing his attitude; now he leaned on his right hand, now on his left; then he reclined in his chair, or rested his hands on the arms of the chair, smoothed the corners of the paper on the table, polished the paper-knife or clutched the lead pencil.

      Their rights, according to him, consisted in that they were allowed to question prisoners, through the presiding justice; they might keep pencils and paper, and might also view exhibits. Their duties consisted in not giving a false verdict. And their responsibilities consisted in that if they failed to keep secret their deliberations, or spoke to outsiders, they would be liable to punishment.

      They all listened with respectful attention. The merchant, from whom the fumes of wine spread through the jury box, and who was suppressing the noisy rising of gases in his stomach, approvingly nodded at every sentence.

CHAPTER IX.

       Table of Contents

      After he had finished the instructions, the presiding justice turned to the prisoners.

      "Simon Kartinkin, rise!" he said.

      Simon sprang up nervously. The muscles of his cheeks began to twitch still quicker.

      "What is your name?"

      "Simon Petroff Kartinkin," he said quickly, in a sharp voice, evidently prepared for the question.

      "What estate?"

      "Peasant."

      "What government, district?"

      "Government of Tula, district of Krapivensk, Kupian township, village of Borki."

      "How old are you?"

      "Thirty-four; born in eighteen hundred——"

      "What faith?"

      "Of the Russian orthodox faith."

      "Are you married?"

      "O, no!"

      "What is your occupation?"

      "I was employed in the Hotel Mauritania."

      "Were you ever arrested before?"

      "I was never arrested before, because where I lived——"

      "You were not arrested?"

      "God forbid! Never!"

      "Have you received a copy of the indictment?"

      "Yes."

      "Sit down. Euphemia Ivanovna Bochkova!" The presiding justice turned to the next prisoner.

      But Simon remained standing in front of Bochkova.

      "Kartinkin, sit down!"

      Kartinkin still remained standing.

      "Kartinkin, sit down!"

      But Kartinkin stood still until the usher, his head leaning to the side, and with wide-open eyes, whispered to him in a tragic tone:

      "Sit down, sit down!"

      Kartinkin sat down as quickly as he rose, and wrapping himself in his coat began to move his cheeks.

      "Your name?" With a sigh of weariness the presiding justice turned to the next prisoner without looking at her, and consulted a paper before him. He was so accustomed to the business that to expedite matters he could try two cases at once.

      Bochkova was forty-two years old, a burgess of the town of Koloma; by occupation a servant—in the same Hotel Mauritania. Was never arrested before, and had received a copy of the indictment. She gave the answers very boldly and with an intonation which seemed to add to every answer.

      "Yes, Bochkova, Euphemia, have received a copy, and am proud of it, and will permit no one to laugh at me."

      Without waiting to be told to sit down, Bochkova sat down immediately after the questioning ceased.

      "Your name?" asked the presiding justice of the third prisoner. "You must rise," he added, gently and courteously, seeing Maslova still in her seat.

      With quick movement Maslova rose with an air of submissiveness, and throwing back her shoulders, looked into the face of the presiding justice with her smiling, somewhat squinting black eyes.

      "What are you called?"

      "They used to call me Lubka," she answered, rapidly.

      Meanwhile Nekhludoff put on his pince-nez and examined the prisoners while they were questioned.

      "It is impossible," he thought, looking intently at the prisoner. "But her name is Lubka," he thought, as he heard her answer.

      The presiding justice was about to continue his interrogation when the member with the eye-glasses, angrily whispering something, stopped him. The presiding justice nodded his assent and turned to the prisoner.

      "You say 'Lubka,' but a different name is entered here."

      The prisoner was silent.

      "I ask you what is your real name?"

      "What name did you receive at baptism?" asked the angry member.

      "Formerly I was called Katherine."

      "It is impossible," Nekhludoff continued to repeat, although there was no doubt in his mind now that it was she, that same servant ward with whom he had been in love at one time—yes, in love, real love, and whom in a moment of mental fever he led astray, then abandoned, and to whom he never gave a second thought, because the recollection of it was too painful, revealed too manifestly that he, who prided himself of his good breeding, not only did not treat her decently, but basely deceived her.

      Yes, it was she. He saw plainly the mysterious peculiarity that distinguishes every individual from every

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