Among the jury Ilya saw two other faces he knew. Behind Petrusha and above him sat a worker in stucco--Silatschev, a big peasant's figure with long arms and little ill-tempered face, a friend of Filimonov and his constant companion at cards. It was told of Silatschev, that once in a quarrel he had pushed his master from a scaffolding, with fatal result. And in the front row, two places from Petrusha sat Dodonov, the proprietor of a big fancy-ware shop. Ilya bought from him and knew him for hard and grasping and a man who had been twice bankrupt, and paid his creditors only ten per cent. "Witness! when did you see that Anissimov's house was on fire?" The ventilator lamented steadily, seeming to echo the sadness in Lunev's breast. "Fool!" said the man next him in a whisper. Ilya looked round, it was the little dark man who now sat with his lips contemptuously drawn. "A fool," he repeated, nodding to Ilya. "Who?" whispered Ilya stupidly. "The accused--he had a fine chance to upset the witness and lets it go. If I--ah." Ilya looked at the prisoner. He was a tall, bony peasant with an angular head. His face was terrified and gloomy; he showed his teeth like a tired, beaten dog, crowded into a corner by its foes and without strength to defend itself. Stupid, animal fear was impressed on every feature; and Petrusha, Silatschev and Dodonov looked at him quietly with the eyes of the well fed. To Lunev it seemed as though they thought: "He's been caught--that is, he is guilty." "Dull!" whispered his neighbour. "Nothing interesting. The accused--a fool, the Public Prosecutor a gaping idiot, the witnesses blockheads as usual. If I were Prosecutor I'd settle his job in ten minutes." "Guilty?" asked Lunev in a whisper, shivering as if with cold. "Probably not. But easy to condemn him. He doesn't know how to defend himself. These peasants never do. A poor lot! Bones and muscles--but intelligence, quickness--not a glimmer!" "That is true. Ye--es." "Have you by any chance twenty kopecks about you?" asked the little man suddenly. "Oh, yes." "Give it to me." Ilya had taken out his purse and handed over the piece of money, before he could make up his mind whether to give it or no. When he had parted with it he thought with an involuntary respect as he looked sideways at his neighbour: "He's quick, but that's the way to live; just take----" "A stupid ass, that's all," whispered the dark man again, and indicated the accused with his eyes. "Sh!--sh!" said the usher. "Gentlemen of the jury," began the Prosecutor with a low but emphatic voice, "look at the face of this man--it is more eloquent than any testimony of the witnesses who have given their evidence without contradiction--er--er--it must be so--it must convince you that a typical criminal stands before you, an enemy of law and order, an enemy of society--stands before you."