they pleased, but he could no longer take part in that farce.

Having inquired where the prosecutor's room was, he directed his steps
toward that dignitary. The messenger would not admit him, declaring
that the prosecutor was busy, but Nekhludoff brushed past him and
asked an officer who met him to announce him to the prosecutor, saying
that he was on important business. His title and dress helped
Nekhludoff. The officer announced him, and he was admitted. The
prosecutor received him standing, evidently dissatisfied with
Nekhludoff's persistence in seeking an audience with him.

"What do you wish?" the prosecutor asked, sternly.

"I am a juryman, my name is Nekhludoff, and I want to see the
prisoner Maslova," he said, resolutely and quickly. He blushed, and
felt that his act would have a decisive influence on his life.

The prosecutor was a tall, swarthy man with short hair just turning
gray, bright eyes and a trimmed, bushy beard on the protruding lower
jaw.

"Maslova? Yes, I know her. She was charged with poisoning," he said
calmly. "Why do you want to see her?" And then, as if desiring to
soften his harsh demeanor, he added: "I cannot give you the permission
before I know what you want to see her for."

"It is very important for me to see her," Nekhludoff burst out.

"I see," said the prosecutor, and, raising his eyes, looked intently
at Nekhludoff. "Has her case been tried?"