river in flood. . . . By two o'clock a great deal had been done:
two prisoners had been sentenced to service in convict battalions,
one of the privileged class had been sentenced to deprivation of
rights and imprisonment, one had been acquitted, one case had been
adjourned.

At precisely two o'clock the presiding judge announced that the
case "of the peasant Nikolay Harlamov, charged with the murder of
his wife," would next be heard. The composition of the court remained
the same as it had been for the preceding case, except that the
place of the defending counsel was filled by a new personage, a
beardless young graduate in a coat with bright buttons. The president
gave the order--"Bring in the prisoner!"

But the prisoner, who had been got ready beforehand, was already
walking to his bench. He was a tall, thick-set peasant of about
fifty-five, completely bald, with an apathetic, hairy face and a
big red beard. He was followed by a frail-looking little soldier
with a gun.

Just as he was reaching the bench the escort had a trifling mishap.
He stumbled and dropped the gun out of his hands, but caught it at
once before it touched the ground, knocking his knee violently
against the butt end as he did so. A faint laugh was audible in the
audience. Either from the pain or perhaps from shame at his awkwardness
the soldier flushed a dark red.

After the customary questions to the prisoner, the shuffling of the
jury, the calling over and swearing in of the witnesses, the reading
of the charge began. The narrow-chested, pale-faced secretary, far