"He, too."
"May I----"
The old judge asked a question of somebody:
"You have nothing?"
All the judges seemed to the mother to be worn out and ill. A
sickened weariness marked their poses and voices, a sickened
weariness and a bored, gray ennui. It was an evident nuisance to
them, all this--the uniforms, the hall, the gendarmes, the lawyers,
the obligation to sit in armchairs, and to put questions concerning
things perforce already known to them. The mother in general was
but little acquainted with the masters; she had scarcely ever seen
them; and now she regarded the faces of the judges as something
altogether new and incomprehensible, deserving pity, however, rather
than inspiring horror.
The familiar, yellow-faced officer stood before them, and told about
Pavel and Andrey, stretching the words with an air of importance.
The mother involuntarily laughed, and thought: "You don't know
much, my little father."
And now, as she looked at the people behind the grill, she ceased
to feel dread for them; they did not evoke alarm, pity was not for
them; they one and all called forth in her only admiration and love,
which warmly embraced her heart; the admiration was calm, the love
joyously distinct.
Pages:
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555