“And I swore that I was in love. I was terrified of my action. It already seemed wild and absurd to me. Gentlemen, it is quite impossible to imagine a more overwhelming sensation than mine at that moment! If a kind man had happened to slip a revolver into my hand I would have put a bullet through my head gladly. “‘Well, that’s enough, enough!’ the advocate said, patting my shoulder and beginning to laugh. ‘Stop crying! The letter won’t reach your sweetheart. It was I, not you, wrote the address on the envelope, and I muddled it up so that they won’t be able to make anything of it at the post-office. But let this be a lesson to you. Don’t discuss things you don’t understand.’” “Now, gentlemen, next, please.” The fifth juryman had settled himself comfortably and already opened his mouth to begin his story, when we heard the clock striking from Spaisky Church-tower. “Twelve....” one of the jurymen counted. “To which class, gentlemen, would you assign the sensations which our prisoner at the bar is now feeling? The murderer passes the night here in a prisoner’s cell, either lying or sitting, certainly without sleeping and all through the sleepless night listens to the striking of the hours. What does he think of? What dreams visit him?” And all the jurymen suddenly forgot about overwhelming sensations. The experience of their friend, who once wrote the letter to his Natasha, seemed unimportant, and not even amusing. Nobody told any more stories; but they began to go to bed quietly, in silence. EXPENSIVE LESSONS It is a great bore for an educated person not to know foreign languages. Vorotov felt it strongly, when on leaving the university after he had got his degree he occupied himself with a little scientific research. “It’s awful!” he used to say, losing his breath (for although only twenty-six he was stout, heavy, and short of breath). “It’s awful. Without knowing languages I’m like a bird without wings. I’ll simply have to chuck the work.” So he decided, come what might, to conquer his natural laziness and to study French and German, and he began to look out for a teacher. One winter afternoon, as Vorotov sat working in his study, the servant announced a lady to see him. “Show her in,” said Vorotov. And a young lady, exquisitely dressed in the latest fashion, entered the study. She introduced herself as Alice Ossipovna Enquette, a teacher of French, and said that a friend of Vorotov’s had sent her to him. “Very glad! Sit down!” said Vorotov, losing his breath, and clutching at the collar of his night shirt. (He always worked in a night shirt in order to breathe more easily.) “You were sent to me by Peter Sergueyevich? Yes.... Yes ... I asked him.... Very glad!”