ho at one time had
been able to consume in abundance. To her, a woman and a mother, to
whom after all the body of her son is always dearer than that in him
which is called a soul, to her it was horrible to see how these sticky,
lightless eyes crept over his face, felt his chest, shoulders, hands,
tore at the hot skin, as if seeking the possibility of taking fire, of
warming the blood in their hardened brains and fatigued muscles--the
brains and muscles of people already half dead, but now to some degree
reanimated by the pricks of greed and envy of a young life that they
presumed to sentence and remove to a distance from themselves. It
seemed to her that her son, too, felt this damp, unpleasant tickling
contact, and, shuddering, looked at her.

He looked into the mother's face with somewhat fatigued eyes, but
calmly, kindly, and warmly. At times he nodded his head to her, and
smiled--she understood the smile.

"Now quick!" she said.

Resting his hand on the table the oldest judge arose. His head sunk in
the collar of his uniform, standing motionless, he began to read a
paper in a droning voice.

"He's reading the sentence," said Sizov, listening.

It became quiet again, and everybody looked at the old man, small, dry,
straight, resembling the stick held in his unseen hand. The other
judges also stood up. The district elder inclined his head on one
shoulder, and looked up to the ceiling; the mayor of the city crossed
his hands over his chest; the marshal of the nobility stroked his
beard. The judge with the sickly face, his puffy neighbor, and the
prosecuting attorney regarded the prisoners sidewise. And behind the
judges the Czar in a red military coat, with an indifferent white face
looked down from his portrait over their heads. On his face some
insect was creeping, or a cobweb was trembling.

"Exile!" Sizov said with a sigh of relief, dropping back on the bench.
"Well, of course! Thank God! I heard that they were going to get hard
labor. Never mind, mother, that's nothing."

Fatigued by her thoughts and her immobility, she understood the joy of
the old man, which boldly raised the soul dragged down by hopelessness.
But it didn't enliven her much.

"Why, I knew it," she answered.

"But, after all, it's certain now. Who could have told beforehand what
the authorities would do? But Fedya is a fine fellow, dear soul."

They walked to the grill; the mother shed tears as she pressed the hand
of h