One autumn morning Ivan Dmitritch, turning up the collar of his greatcoat and splashing through the mud, made his way by side-streets and back lanes to see some artisan, and to collect some payment that was owing.  He was in a gloomy mood, as he always was in the morning.  In one of the side-streets he was met by two convicts in fetters and four soldiers with rifles in charge of them.  Ivan Dmitritch had very often met convicts before, and they had always excited feelings of compassion and discomfort in him; but now this meeting made a peculiar, strange impression on him.  It suddenly seemed to him for some reason that he, too, might be put into fetters and led through the mud to prison like that.  After visiting the artisan, on the way home he met near the post office a police superintendent of his acquaintance, who greeted him and walked a few paces along the street with him, and for some reason this seemed to him suspicious.  At home he could not get the convicts or the soldiers with their rifles out of his head all day, and an unaccountable inward agitation prevented him from reading or concentrating his mind.  In the evening he did not light his lamp, and at night he could not sleep, but kept thinking that he might be arrested, put into fetters, and thrown into prison.  He did not know of any harm he had done, and could be certain that he would never be guilty of murder, arson, or theft in the future either; but was it not easy to commit a crime by accident, unconsciously, and was not false witness always possible, and, indeed, miscarriage of justice?  It was not without good reason that the agelong experience of the simple people teaches that beggary and prison are ills none can be safe from.  A judicial mistake is very possible as legal proceedings are conducted nowadays, and there is nothing to be wondered at in it.  People who have an official, professional relation to other men’s sufferings—­for instance, judges, police officers, doctors —­in course of time, through habit, grow so callous that they cannot, even if they wish it, take any but a formal attitude to their clients; in this respect they are not different from the peasant who slaughters sheep and calves in the back-yard, and does not notice the blood.  With this formal, soulless attitude to human personality the judge needs but one thing—­time—­in order to deprive an innocent man of all rights of property, and to condemn him to penal servitude.  Only the time spent on performing certain formalities for which the judge is paid his salary, and then—­it is all over.  Then you may look in vain for justice and protection in this dirty, wretched little town a hundred and fifty miles from a railway station!  And, indeed, is it not absurd even to think of justice when every kind of violence is accepted by society as a rational and consistent necessity, and every act of mercy—­for instance, a verdict of acquittal—­calls forth a perfect outburst of dissatisfied and revengeful feeling?