He kneeled with his face bowed to the
block, repeated a prayer, and rising he faced the multitude with dignity
and composure. As his eye moved slowly over the array of human
countenances by which he was environed, a hectic glowed on his features,
for not one of them all betrayed sympathy in his sufferings. His breast
heaved, and those nearest to his person thought the self-command of the
miserable man was about to fail him. The result disappointed
expectation. There was a shudder, and the limbs settled into repose.
"Thou hast looked in vain among the multitude for a friendly eye?" said
the Carmelite, whose attention had been drawn to the convulsive
movement.
"None here have pity for an assassin."
"Remember thy Redeemer, son. He suffered ignominy and death for a race
that denied his Godhead, and derided his sorrows."
Jacopo crossed himself, and bowed his head in reverence.
"Hast thou more prayers to repeat, father?" demanded the chief of the
Sbirri; he who was particularly charged with the duty of the hour."
Though the illustrious councils are so sure in justice, they are
merciful to the souls of sinners."
"Are thy orders peremptory?" asked the monk, unconsciously fixing his
eye again on the windows of the palace. "Is it certain that the prisoner
is to die?"
The officer smiled at the simplicity of the question, but with the
apathy of one too much familiarized with human suffering to admit of
compassion.
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