boulevard, but between the flag-stones, and the birches, poplars and wild-berry trees were unfolding their viscous leaves; the limes were unfolding their buds; the daws, sparrows and pigeons were joyfully making their customary nests, and the flies were buzzing on the sun-warmed walls.  Plants, birds, insects and children were equally joyful.  Only men—­grown-up men—­continued cheating and tormenting themselves and each other.  People saw nothing holy in this spring morning, in this beauty of God’s world—­a gift to all living creatures—­inclining to peace, good-will and love, but worshiped their own inventions for imposing their will on each other.

The joy of spring felt by animals and men did not penetrate the office of the county jail, but the one thing of supreme importance there was a document received the previous evening, with title, number and seal, which ordered the bringing into court for trial, this 28th day of April, at nine o’clock in the morning, three prisoners—­two women and one man.  One of the women, as the more dangerous criminal, was to be brought separately.  So, in pursuance of that order, on the 28th day of April, at eight o’clock in the morning, the jail warden entered the dingy corridor of the woman’s ward.  Immediately behind him came a woman with weary countenance and disheveled gray hair, wearing a crown-laced jacket, and girdled with a blue-edged sash.  She was the matron.

“You want Maslova?” she asked the warden, as they neared one of the cells opening into the corridor.

The warden, with a loud clanking of iron, unlocked and opened the door of the cell, releasing an even fouler odor than permeated the corridor, and shouted: 

“Maslova to the court!” and again closing the door he waited for her appearance.

The fresh, vivifying air of the fields, carried to the city by the wind, filled even the court-yard of the jail.  But in the corridor the oppressive air, laden with the smell of tar and putrescence, saddened and dejected the spirit of every new-comer.  The same feeling was experienced by the jail matron, notwithstanding she was accustomed to bad air.  On entering the corridor she suddenly felt a weariness coming over her that inclined her to slumber.

There was a bustling in the cell; women’s voices and steps of bare feet were heard.

“Hurry up, Maslova!  Come on, I say!” shouted the warden into the cell-door.

Presently at the cell-door appeared a middle-sized, full-breasted young woman, dressed in a long, gray coat over a white waist and skirt.  She approached with firm step, and, facing about, stood before the warden.  Over her linen stockings she wore jail shoes; her head was covered with a white ’kerchief, from under which black curls were evidently purposely brushed over the forehead.  The face of the woman was of that whiteness peculiar to people who have been a long time in confinement, and which reminds one of potato-sprouts in a cellar.  Her small, wide