G. P. Tchernoff, collegiate secretary, had been accused of defrauding the brandy revenues, and of having cruelly beaten the collector. Acquitted on the first charge, he had been condemned on the second to damages, as reparation for the man who had been beaten, and also to three days’ arrest.

“Let him vote!” was the cry, as in the preceding case.

Ivan Borisovitch Tchirnazoff, titular councillor, had been accused of cutting wood on crown land.

“Crown land! Exclude him! exclude him!” cried a hundred voices at once, with an accent of wrath.

“Ivan Stepanitch Tzelikoff, collegiate assessor,” now read the secretary, “has been tried in court for having discharged a loaded firearm in the middle of the public square.”

“What! Tzelikoff discharged a loaded gun?” said a gentleman with curled hair, in a vivacious manner. “Positively loaded?”

“There is no doubt but that the gun was loaded,” said another person.

“Well, if the gun was not loaded, it was not possible to fire it,” remarked a third.

“Li-i-i-tle bo-o-o-y-s so-o-o-meti-i-i-mes b-b-burn pri-i-i-ming for fun,” said a gentleman who stammered in a very painful manner.

“Why did not the secretary finish his sentence?” now asked a noble with leaden eyes and closely cropped hair. “Did Tzelikoff kill anyone with his loaded gun?” he added in a tone of alarm.

“You are requested to be silent.”

“Pray, who regulates the discussion here? I ask whether Tzelikoff killed or wounded anyone?”

The uproar was increasing every moment.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen! Silence, I beseech you,” said the marshal of the province, gently.

“I know all about it myself. I was present. Yes, indeed! he wounded my dog,” began a portly gentleman, who had a remarkable tuft of hair on his right cheek.

“By this discharge——” read the secretary, making an effort to continue his perusal.

“Listen, Piotr Feodorovitch, listen! That shot of Tzelikoff’s is being explained.”

“What? How? One can’t hear anything.”

“Yes, the hubbub is going to begin now; the whole orchestra is tuning its instruments.”

“Speak louder, secretary, and proceed. Ahi! ahi! there’s somebody treading on my cursed corn again! Who goes there? Ahi! ahi! What a rude lout! He does not even apologise.”

“By this shot,” now resumed the secretary, pitching his voice an octave higher, “he inflicted mortal terror upon a lady who was passing by. This lady was the wife of Mr. Shukin, the inspector of police of that district; and in consequence of her fright, this lady, on reaching her home——”

“Ah! If she died, that settles about the shot,” interrupted one of the nobles.

“In the name of heaven, gentlemen, listen, and do not interrupt!” exclaimed another.