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him, suggesting that he should hear the protocol read aloud
and sign it. Mitya guessed that he had been asleep an hour
or more, but he did not hear Nikolay Parfenovitch. He was
suddenly struck by the fact that there was a pillow under his
head, which hadn’t been there when he had leant back, ex-
hausted, on the chest.
‘Who put that pillow under my head? Who was so kind?’
he cried, with a sort of ecstatic gratitude, and tears in his
voice, as though some great kindness had been shown him.
He never found out who this kind man was; perhaps one
of the peasant witnesses, or Nikolay Parfenovitch’s little
secretary, had compassionately thought to put a pillow un-
der his head; but his whole soul was quivering with tears.
He went to the table and said that he would sign whatever
they liked.
‘I’ve had a good dream, gentlemen,’ he said in a strange
voice, with a new light, as of joy, in his face.