“I am illegitimate,” said Maslova.

“But yet you were named after your godfather?”

“Michailova.”

“What crime could she have committed?” Nekhludoff thought meanwhile, his breath almost failing him.

“What is your surname—­your family name?” continued the presiding justice.

“Maslova—­after my mother.”

“Your estate?”

“Burgess.”

“Of the orthodox faith?”

“Yes.”

“Your occupation?  What was your occupation?”

Maslova was silent.

“What was your occupation?” repeated the justiciary.

“You know!” said Maslova.  She smiled and quickly glanced around, then looked squarely at the justiciary.

There was something so unusual in the expression of her face—­something so terrible and piteous in the meaning of her words, in that smile, that quick glance which she cast over the court-room—­that the justiciary hung his head, and for a moment there was perfect silence.

A burst of laughter from some spectator interrupted the silence.  Some one hissed.  The justiciary raised his head and continued the interrogation.

“Were you ever arrested?”

“No.”  Maslova said in an undertone, sighing.

“Have you received a copy of the indictment?”

“Yes.”

“Sit down.”

The prisoner raised her skirt with the customary movement of a fashionable lady, arranging her train, and sat down, folding her hands in the sleeves of her coat, and still looking at the justiciary.

Then began the recounting of witnesses, their removal to a separate room, the decision on the evidence of the medical expert.  Then the secretary arose and began to read the indictment, loud and with distinctness, but so rapidly that his incorrect sounding of the letters l and r turned his reading into one continuous, weary drone.  The judges leaned now on one side, now on the other side of their arm-chairs, then on the table, and again on the backs of the chairs, or closed their eyes, or opened them and whispered to each other.  One of the gendarmes several times stifled a yawn.

The convulsions of Kartinkin’s cheeks did not cease.  Bochkova sat quietly and erect, now and then scratching with her finger under her cap.

Maslova sat motionless, listening to the reading, and looking at the clerk; at times she shuddered and made a movement as if desiring to object, blushed, then sighed deeply, changed the position of her hands, glanced around and again looked at the clerk.

Nekhludoff sat on the high-backed chair in the front row, second to the aisle, and without removing his pince-nez looked at Maslova, while his soul was being racked by a fierce and complicated struggle.

CHAPTER X.

The indictment read as follows: 

“On the 17th of January, 18—­, suddenly died in the Hotel Mauritania, merchant of the second guild, Therapont Emelianovich Smelkoff.