uth; something
black in his eyes. On Mazin's upper lip two black streaks were limned,
his face was fuller. Samoylov was just as curly-haired as before; and
Ivan Gusev smiled just as broadly.

"Ah, Fedka, Fedka!" whispered Sizov, drooping his head.

The mother felt she could breathe more freely. She heard the
indistinct questions of the old man, which he put without looking at
the prisoners; and his head rested motionless on the collar of his
uniform. She heard the calm, brief answers of her son. It seemed to
her that the oldest judge and his associates could be neither evil nor
cruel people. Looking carefully at their faces she tried to guess
something, softly listening to the growth of a new hope in her breast.

The porcelain-faced man read a paper indifferently; his even voice
filled the hall with weariness, and the people, enfolded by it, sat
motionless as if benumbed. Four lawyers softly but animatedly
conversed with the prisoners. They all moved powerfully, briskly, and
called to mind large blackbirds.

On one side of the old man a judge with small, bleared eyes filled the
armchair with his fat, bloated body. On the other side sat a stooping
man with reddish mustache on his pale face. His head was wearily
thrown on the back of the chair, his eyes, half-closed, he seemed to be
reflecting over something. The face of the prosecuting attorney was
also worn, bored, and unexpectant. Behind the judge sat the mayor of
the city, a portly man, who meditatively stroked his cheek; the marshal
of the nobility, a gray-haired, large-bearded, ruddy-faced man, with
large, kind eyes; and the district elder, who wore a sleeveless peasant
overcoat, and possessed a huge belly which apparently embarrassed him;
he endeavored to cover it with the folds of his overcoat, but it always
slid down and showed again.

"There are no criminals here and no judges," Pavel's vigorous voice was
heard. "There are only captives here, and conquerors!"

Silence fell. For a few seconds the mother's ears heard only the thin,
hasty scratch of the pen on the paper and the beating of her own heart.

The oldest judge also seemed to be listening to something from afar.
His associates stirred. Then he said:

"Hm! yes--Andrey Nakhodka, do you admit----"

Somebody whispered, "Rise!"

Andrey slowly rose, straightened himself, and pulling his mustache
looked at the old man from the corners of his eyes.

"Yes! To what can I confess myself