The trial ended at about eight o'clock, when it had become dark.
Before Musya's and Golovin's eyes the sky, which had been turning ever
bluer, was gradually losing its tint, but it did not turn rosy, did
not smile softly as in summer evenings, but became muddy, gray, and
suddenly grew cold, wintry. Golovin heaved a sigh, stretched himself,
glanced again twice at the window, but the cold darkness of the night
alone was there; then continuing to tug at his short beard, he began
to examine with childish curiosity the judges, the soldiers with their
muskets, and he smiled at Tanya Kovalchuk. When the sky had darkened
Musya calmly, without lowering her eyes to the ground, turned them to
the corner where a small cobweb was quivering from the imperceptible
radiations of the steam heat, and thus she remained until the sentence
was pronounced.

After the verdict, having bidden good-by to their frock-coated
lawyers, and evading each other's helplessly confused, pitying and
guilty eyes, the convicted terrorists crowded in the doorway for a
moment and exchanged brief words.

"Never mind, Vasya. Everything will be over soon," said Werner.

"I am all right, brother," Kashirin replied loudly, calmly and even
somewhat cheerfully. And indeed, his face had turned slightly rosy,
and no longer looked like that of a decomposing corpse.

"The devil take them; they've hanged us," Golovin cursed quaintly.

"That was to be expected," replied Werner calmly.