“Are they men?” he would bitterly complain of the disciples, fixing his blind, motionless eye confidingly on Mary Magdalene. “They are not men. They have not an oboles’ worth of blood in their veins!”
“But then you are always speaking ill of others,” Mary objected.
“Have I ever?” said Judas in surprise. “Oh, yes, I have indeed spoken ill of them; but is there not room for improvement in them? Ah! Mary, silly Mary, why are you not a man, to carry a sword?”
“It is so heavy, I could not lift it!” said Mary smilingly.
“But you will lift it, when men are too worthless. Did you give Jesus the lily that I found on the mountain? I got up early to find it, and this morning the sun was so beautiful, Mary! Was He pleased with it? Did He smile?”
“Yes, He was pleased. He said that its smell reminded Him of Galilee.”
“But surely, you did not tell Him that it was Judas—Judas Iscariot—who got it for Him?”
“Why, you asked me not to tell Him.”
“Yes, certainly, quite right,” said Judas, with a sigh. “You might have let it out, though, women are such chatterers. But you did not let it out; no, you were firm. You are a good woman, Mary. You know that I have a wife somewhere. Now I should be glad to see her again; perhaps she is not a bad woman either. I don’t know. She said, ‘Judas was a liar and malignant,’ so I left her. But she may be a good woman. Do you know?”
“How should I know, when I have never seen your wife?”