And this appreciation of him, that is, acknowledging his high qualities, was proof to Nekhludoff of her intelligence and correct judgment.  Finally, against marrying Missy in particular, was, first, the extreme probability of his finding a girl of much better qualities than Missy, and, consequently, more worthy of him; and, second, Missy was twenty-seven years old and had probably loved other men before him.  This thought tormented him.  His pride could not reconcile itself to the thought that she could love some one else, even in the past.  Of course, she could not be expected to know that she would meet him, but the very thought that she could have loved some one else before offended him.

So that there were as many reasons for as there were against marriage in general and marrying Missy in particular.  At all events the arguments were equally strong on both sides, and Nekhludoff laughed as he compared himself to the ass in the fable who, while deciding which of the two bales of hay before him he should have his meal from, starved himself.

“However, until I have heard from Maria Vasilieona, the wife of the commander, and have done with her for good, I can do nothing,” he said to himself.

And the consciousness that he could and must defer his decision pleased him.

“Ah, but I will consider it all later,” he said to himself, as his cabriolet silently approached the asphalt pavement of the court-house.

“And now I must do my duty to the community conscientiously, as I always do, and think it one’s duty to do.  Besides, it is often interesting,” he said, and went past the door-keeper into the vestibule of the court.

CHAPTER V.

There was great commotion in the corridors of the court when Nekhludoff entered.

The attendants flitted to and fro breathlessly, delivering orders and documents.  Police captains, lawyers and clerks passed now one way, now the other; complainants and defendants under bail leaned sadly against the walls, or were sitting and waiting.

“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?”