"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.
"Do any doubt it?" he rejoined. "It is the lot of man, reverend monk; and more especially is it the lot of those on whom the judgment of St. Mark has alighted. It were better that your penitent looked to his soul."
"Surely thou hast thy private and express commands! They have named a minute when this bloody work is to be performed?"
"Holy Carmelite, I have. The time will not be weary, and you will do well to make the most of it, unless you have faith already in the prisoner's condition."