"Where is the Circuit Court?" asked Nekhludoff of one of the
attendants.

"Which one? There is a civil division and a criminal one."

"I am a juror."

"Criminal division. You should have said so. This way, to the right,
then turn to your left. The second door."

Nekhludoff went as directed.

At the door two men stood waiting. One was a tall, stout merchant, a
good-natured man, who had evidently partaken of some liquor and was in
very high spirits; the other was a clerk of Jewish extraction. They
were talking about the price of wool when Nekhludoff approached them
and asked if that was the jury's room.

"Here, sir, here. Are you also one of the jurymen?" mirthfully winking
his eyes, the good-natured merchant asked.

"Well, we will drudge together, I suppose," he continued in response
to Nekhludoff's affirmative answer. "My name is Baklashoff, merchant
of the second guild," he introduced himself, extending his soft, broad
hand; "we must do our duty. Whom have I the honor of addressing?"

Nekhludoff gave his name and passed into the jury-room.

In the small jury-room there were about ten men of every description.