"Have you ever been tried before?"
"Never," answered Maslova, softly, and sighed.
"Have you received a copy of the indictment?"
"I have," she answered.
"Sit down."
The prisoner leant back to pick up her skirt in the way a fine lady picks up her train, and sat down, folding her small white hands in the sleeves of her cloak, her eyes fixed on the president. Her face was calm again.
The witnesses were called, and some sent away; the doctor who was to act as expert was chosen and called into the court.
Then the secretary got up and began reading the indictment. He read distinctly, though he pronounced the "I" and "r" alike, with a loud voice, but so quickly that the words ran into one another and formed one uninterrupted, dreary drone.
The judges bent now on one, now on the other arm of their chairs, then on the table, then back again, shut and opened their eyes, and whispered to each other. One of the gendarmes several times repressed a yawn.
The prisoner Kartinkin never stopped moving his cheeks.
Botchkova sat quite still and straight, only now and then scratching her head under the kerchief.
Maslova sat immovable, gazing at the reader; only now and then she gave a slight start, as if wishing to reply, blushed, sighed heavily, and changed the position of her hands, looked round, and again fixed her eyes on the reader.
Nekhludoff sat in the front row on his high-backed chair, without removing his pince-nez, and looked at Maslova, while a complicated and fierce struggle was going on in his soul.