courage, crossed his legs, as was his wont, and, negligently playing with his pince-nez, he sat with an air of self-confidence on the second chair of the front row.  Meanwhile he already felt in the depth of his soul all the cruelty, dastardliness and baseness not only of that act of his, but of his whole idle, dissolute, cruel and wayward life.  And the terrible veil, which during these twelve years in such marvelous manner had hidden from him that crime and all his subsequent life, already began to stir, and now and then he caught a glimpse behind it.

CHAPTER XXIII.

The justiciary finally finished his speech and handed the list of questions to the foreman.  The jury rose from their seats, glad of an opportunity to leave the court-room, and, not knowing what to do with their hands, as if ashamed of something, they filed into the consultation-room.  As soon as the door closed behind them a gendarme, with drawn sword resting on his shoulder, placed himself in front of it.  The judges rose and went out.  The prisoners also were led away.

On entering the consultation-room the jury immediately produced cigarettes and began to smoke.  The sense of their unnatural and false position, of which they were to a greater or less degree cognizant, while sitting in the court-room, passed away as soon as they entered their room and lighted their cigarettes, and, with a feeling of relief, they seated themselves and immediately started an animated conversation.

“The girl is not guilty, she was confused,” said the kind-hearted merchant.

“That is what we are going to consider,” retorted the foreman.  “We must not yield to our personal impressions.”

“The judge’s summing up was good,” said the colonel.

“Do you call it good?  It nearly sent me to sleep.”

“The important point is that the servants could not have known that there was money in the room if Maslova had no understanding with them,” said the clerk with the Jewish face.

“So you think that she stole it?” asked one of the jury.

“I will never believe that,” shouted the kind-hearted merchant.  “It is all the work of that red-eyed wench.”

“They are all alike,” said the colonel.

“But she said that she did not go into the room.”

“Do you believe her more than the other?  I should never believe that worthless woman.”

“That does not decide the question,” said the clerk.

“She had the key.”

“What if she had?” answered the merchant.

“And the ring?”

“She explained it,” again shouted the merchant.  “It is quite likely that being drunk he struck her.  Well, and then he was sorry, of course.  ‘There, don’t cry!  Take this ring.’  And what a big man!  They said he weighed about two hundred and fifty pounds, I believe.”

“That is not the point,” interrupted Peter Gerasimovich.  “The question is, Was she the instigator, or were the servants?”