Gavrílo was called in. "Is it true that you said so?" "I said nothing. Flog me, if you please. Evidently I must suffer for my truth, while he may do anything he wishes." Gavrílo wanted to say something more, but his lips and cheeks trembled. He turned away toward the wall. Even the judges were frightened as they looked at him. "It would not be surprising," they thought, "if he actually did some harm to his neighbour or to himself." And an old judge said to them: "Listen, friends! You had better make peace with each other. Did you do right, brother Gavrílo, to strike a pregnant woman? Luckily God was merciful to you, but think what crime you might have committed! Is that good? Confess your guilt and beg his pardon! And he will pardon you. Then we shall change the decree." The scribe heard that, and said: "That is impossible, because on the basis of Article 117 there has taken place no reconciliation, but the decree of the court has been handed down, and the decree has to be executed." But the judge paid no attention to the scribe. "Stop currycombing your tongue. The first article, my friend, is to remember God, and God has commanded me to make peace." And the judge began once more to talk to the peasants, but he could not persuade them. Gavrílo would not listen to him. "I am fifty years old less one," he said, "and I have a married son. I have not been beaten in all my life, and now freckled Iván has brought me to being beaten with rods, and am I to beg his forgiveness? Well, he will--Iván will remember me!" Gavrílo's voice trembled again. He could not talk. He turned around and went out. From the township office to the village was a distance of ten versts, and Iván returned home late. The women had already gone out to meet the cattle. He unhitched his horse, put it away, and entered the hut. The room was empty. The children had not yet returned from the field, and the women were out to meet the cattle. Iván went in, sat down on a bench, and began to think. He recalled how the decision was announced to Gavrílo, and how he grew pale, and turned to the wall. And his heart was pinched. He thought of how he should feel if he were condemned to be flogged. He felt sorry for Gavrílo. He heard the old man coughing on the oven. The old man turned around, let down his legs, and sat up. He pulled himself with difficulty up to the bench, and coughed and coughed, until he cleared his throat, and leaned against the table, and said: "Well, have they condemned him?" Iván said: "He has been sentenced to twenty strokes with the rods." The old man shook his head. "Iván, you are not doing right. It's wrong, not wrong to him, but to yourself. Well, will it make you feel easier, if they flog him?" "He will never do it again," said Iván. "Why not? In what way is he doing worse than you?"