When he awoke on the morning of the next day but one, he saw on his
calendar the black figure 23, and remembered that this was the day that
Vyera would appear for trial. He rejoiced at the excuse to get away
from the shop, and felt keen curiosity over the girl's fate. He dressed
hastily, drank his tea, almost ran to the court, and reached it too
early. No one was admitted yet--a little crowd of people pressed about
the steps, waiting for the doors to open; Lunev took his place with
the rest and leant his back against the wall. There was an open space
before the court-house, with a big church in the middle of it. Shadows
swept over the ground. The sun's disc, dim and pale, now appeared, now
vanished behind the clouds. Almost every moment a shadow fell widely
over the square, gliding over the stones, climbing the trees, so that
the branches seemed to bend under its weight; then it wrapped the
church from base to cross, covered it entirely, then noiselessly moved
further to the court of justice and the waiting crowd.
The people all looked strangely grey, with hungry faces; they looked at
one another with tired eyes and spoke slowly. One--a long-haired man
in a light overcoat buttoned to his chin and a crushed hat, twisted
his pointed red beard with cold red fingers, and stamped the ground
impatiently with his worn out shoes. Another in a patched waistcoat,
and cap pulled down over his brows, stood with bent head, one hand in
his bosom, the other in his pocket. He seemed asleep. A little swarthy
man in an overcoat and high boots looking like a cockchafer, moved
about restlessly. He looked up to the sky showing a pale pointed little
nose, whistled, wrinkled his brows, ran his tongue over the edge of his
moustache and spoke more than all the others.
"Are they opening?" he called, listening with his head on one side.
"No--h'm. Time is cheap! Been to the library yet, my boy?"
"No--too early," answered the long-haired man briefly.
"The Devil! it _is_ cold!"
The other growled agreement and said thoughtfully:
"Where should we warm ourselves if it weren't for the law courts and
the libraries?"
The dark man shrugged his shoulders. Ilya looked at them more carefully
and listened. He saw they were loafers--people who passed their lives
in various "shady" businesses either cheating the peasants, for whom
they drew up petitions or papers of different kinds, or going from
house to house with begging letters. Once he had feared them, now they
roused his curiosity.
"What's the good of these people? Yet, they live."
A pair of pigeons settled on the pavement near the steps. The man with
the bent head swayed from one foot to the other and began to circle
round the birds, making a loud cooing noise.
"Pfui!" whistled the dark little man sharply. The man in the waistcoat
started and looked up; his face was blue and swollen, and his eyes
glassy.
"I can't stand pigeons," cried the little man watching them as they
flew away. "Fat--as rich tradesmen--and their beastly cooing! Are you
summoned?" he asked Ilya, unexpectedly.
"No."
"You're not called?"
"No."