It is evident that this boy is no villain, but a very ordinary person—­every one sees that—­and that he became what he is only because he lived amid conditions that beget such people.  It is therefore plain that such boys will exist as long as the conditions producing these unfortunates remain unchanged.  If any one had taken pity on this boy, Nekhludoff thought while looking at the sickly, frightened face of the boy, before want had driven him from the village to the city, and relieved that want, or, when, after twelve hours’ work in the factory, he was visiting inns with grown-up comrades, some one had told him, “Don’t go, Vania; it is bad,” the boy would not have gone, or got drunk, and the burglary would never have occurred.

But no one pitied the boy during the time that he, like an animal, spent his school years in the city, and, with close-cropped hair, to prevent his getting vermin, ran errands for the workmen.  On the contrary, the only thing he had heard from the workmen and his comrades was to the effect that a brave fellow was he who cheated, drank, reviled, fought, or led a depraved life.

And when, sickly and depraved from the unhealthy work, from drink and lewdness, foolish and capricious, he aimlessly prowled around the city, as in a dream, entered some shed and abstracted a few worthless mats, then, instead of destroying the causes that led this boy into his present condition, we intend to mend matters by punishing him!

It is dreadful!

Thus Nekhludoff thought, and no longer listened to what was going on around him.  He was himself terrified at this revelation.  He wondered why he had not seen it before—­how others failed to see it.

CHAPTER XXXV.

As soon as the first recess was taken, Nekhludoff rose and went out of the court, intending to return no more.  They might do with him what 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.”