Lunev looked at Pavel; he sat bent forward, his head down, twisting his fur cap in his hands. His neighbour, however, sat straight and upright, and looked as though she were sitting in judgment on every one there, Vyera and the judges and the public. Her head turned often from side to side, her lips were compressed scornfully, and her proud eyes glanced coldly and sternly from under her wrinkled brows. "I plead guilty," said Vyera. Her voice broke and the sound was like the ring of a cup that is cracked. Two of the jury, Dodonov and his neighbour, a red-haired, clean-shaven man, bent their heads together, moved their lips silently, and their eyes, that rested on the girl, smiled. Petrusha, holding with both hands to his chair, bent his whole body forward; his face was even redder than usual and the ends of his moustache twitched; others of the jury looked at Vyera, all with the same definite attentiveness, which Lunev understood but hated furiously. "They sit in judgment, and every one of them looks at her lustfully!" he thought, and clenched his teeth; he longed to call out to Petrusha: "You rascal! what are you thinking? Where are you? What is your duty?" Something stuck in his throat, like a heavy ball, and hampered his breath. "Tell me, Kapitanovna," said Gromov lazily, while his eyes stood out like those of a lustful he-goat, "have you-ah--practised prostitution long?" Vyera passed her hand over her face as though the question stuck fast to her fiery red cheeks. "A long time." She answered firmly. A whisper ran among the people like a snake. Gratschev bowed lower as though he would hide, and twisted his cap ceaselessly. "About how long?" Vyera said nothing, but looked earnestly, seriously at Gromov out of her wide-open eyes: "One year? Two? Five?" persisted the president. She was still silent; her grey figure stood as though hewn from stone, only the ends of her kerchief quivered on her breast. "You have the right not to reply, if you wish," said Gromov, stroking his beard. Now an advocate sprang up, a thin man with a small pointed beard and long eyes. His nose was long and thin, and the nape of his neck wide so that his face looked like a hatchet. "Say, what compelled you to adopt this, this profession!" he said loudly and clearly. "Nothing compelled me," answered Vyera, her eyes fixed on the judge's. "H'm, that's not altogether correct; you see, I know, you told me." "You know nothing!" answered Vyera. She turned her head towards him, and looking at him sternly, went on angrily: "I told you nothing, you yourself have made it all up!" Her eyes glanced quickly over the audience, then she turned back to the judges and asked with a movement of her head towards her defender: "Need I answer him?"