“First of all,” he thought, “I must see the lawyer, and then—­then see her in jail—­the convict of yesterday—­and tell her everything.”

And when he thought how he would see her, confess his guilt before her, how he would declare to her that he would do everything in his power, marry her in order to wipe out his guilt, he became enraptured, and tears filled his eyes.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

Arriving at the court-house, Nekhludoff met the usher in the corridor and asked him where the prisoners already sentenced were kept, and from whom permission could be obtained to see them.  The usher told him that the prisoners were kept in various places, and that before final judgment the public prosecutor was the only person from whom permission to see them could be obtained.  “The prosecutor has not arrived yet; when he does I will let you know, and will escort you myself to him after the session.  And now, please to walk into the court.  The session is commencing.”

Nekhludoff thanked the usher, who seemed to him particularly pitiful to-day, and went into the jury-room.

As Nekhludoff was approaching the jury-room his fellow jurors were coming out, repairing to the court-room.  The merchant was as cheerful, had lunched as well as yesterday, and greeted Nekhludoff like an old friend.  The loud laughter and familiarity of Peter Gerasimovitch did not give rise to-day in Nekhludoff of the unpleasant sensation of yesterday.

Nekhludoff wished to tell all the jurymen of his relations to the woman whom they had convicted yesterday.  “It would have been proper,” he thought, “yesterday to rise in court and publicly confess my guilt.”  But when with the other jurymen he entered the court-room and witnessed the same procedure, the same “Hear ye!  Hear ye!” the three judges in high collars on the elevation, the silence, the seating of the jury on high-backed chairs, the gendarmes, the priest—­he felt that, though it was necessary to do it, he would not have been able even yesterday to break this solemnity.

They went through the same preliminaries, except the swearing in of the jury and the justiciary’s speech to them.

A case of burglary was before the court.  The prisoner, who was guarded by two gendarmes with unsheathed swords, was a twenty-year-old boy with a bloodless face and in a gray coat.  He sat alone on the prisoners’ bench and scanned from under his eyebrows all those that entered the court-room.  This boy and another were charged with breaking the lock of a shed and stealing therefrom mats of the value of three rubles and sixty-seven kopecks.  It appeared from the indictment that a policeman caught the boy when he was walking with the other, who carried the mats on his shoulder.  Both of them immediately confessed, and they were put in jail.  The comrade of this boy, a locksmith, died in jail, and he was tried alone.  The old mats lay on the table reserved for exhibits.