`I can't stand any more of it,' said one red-faced gentleman.

After them the face of the marshal of the province was poked out. His face was dreadful-looking from exhaustion and dismay.

`I told you not to let anyone out!' he cried to the doorkeeper.

`I let someone in, Your Excellency!'

`Mercy on us!' And with a heavy sigh the marshal of the province walked with downcast head to the high table in the middle of the room, his white-trousered legs wavering from fatigue.

Neviedovsky had scored a higher majority, as they had planned, and he was the new marshal of the province. Many people were amused, many were pleased and happy, many were in ecstasies, many were disgusted and unhappy. The former marshal of the province was in a state of despair which he could not conceal. When Neviedovsky went out of the room, the crowd thronged round him and followed him enthusiastically, just as they had followed the governor on the first day, when he had opened the meetings, and just as they had followed Snetkov when he had been elected.