“Yes, and marry her, if she only desires it.”

“I see!  And may I ask you to explain your motives, if it is not unpleasant to you?  I do not understand them.”

“My motives are that that woman—­that the first step on her downward career——­” Nekhludoff became angry because he could not find the proper expression.  “My motives are that I am guilty, while she is punished.”

“If she is punished, then she is also, probably, guilty.”

“She is perfectly innocent.”

And, with unnecessary agitation, Nekhludoff related the whole case.

“Yes, that was an omission by the presiding justice.  But in such cases there is the Senate.”

“The Senate sustained the verdict.”

“Ah, then there were no grounds of appeal,” said Ignatius Nikiforovitch, evidently sharing the well-known opinion that truth is the product of court proceedings.  “The Senate cannot go into the merits of a case.  But if there is really a judicial error, a petition should be made to the Emperor.”

“That was done, but there is no chance of success.  Inquiries will be made at the Ministry, which will refer them to the Senate, and the Senate will repeat its decision, and, as usual, the innocent will be punished.”

“In the first place, the Ministry will not refer to the Senate,” and Ignatius Nikiforovitch smiled condescendingly, “but will call for all the documents in the case, and, if it finds an error, will so decide.  In the second place, an innocent person is never, or, at least, very seldom punished.  Only the guilty is punished.”

“And I am convinced that the contrary is true,” said Nekhludoff, with an unkind feeling toward his brother-in-law.  “I am convinced that the majority of the people convicted by courts are innocent.”

“How so?”

“They are innocent in the ordinary sense of the word, as that woman was innocent of poisoning; as that peasant is innocent of the murder which he has not committed; as that mother and son are innocent of the arson which was committed by the owner himself, and for which they came near being convicted.”

“Of course, there always have been and always will be judicial errors.  Human institutions cannot be perfect.”

“And, then, a large part of the innocent, because they have been brought up amid certain conditions, do not consider the acts committed by them criminal.”

“Pardon me; that is unfair.  Every thief knows that stealing is wrong; that theft is immoral,” Ignatius Nikiforovitch said, with the calm, self-confident, and, at the same time, somewhat contemptuous, smile which particularly provoked Nekhludoff.

“No, he does not know.  He is told not to steal, but he sees and knows that the employers steal his labor, keep back his pay, and that the officials are constantly robbing him.”

“That is anarchism,” Ignatius calmly defined the meaning of his brother-in-law’s words.