"Maslova—after my mother."
"Your estate?"
"Burgess."
"Of the orthodox faith?"
"Yes."
"Your occupation? What was your occupation?"
Maslova was silent.
"What was your occupation?" repeated the justiciary.
"You know!" said Maslova. She smiled and quickly glanced around, then looked squarely at the justiciary.
There was something so unusual in the expression of her face—something so terrible and piteous in the meaning of her words, in that smile, that quick glance which she cast over the court-room—that the justiciary hung his head, and for a moment there was perfect silence.