"Indeed, we may be no better than you."
"We pity you, but we must not judge you. Only pity is permitted."
As for the well-dressed peasant, his loud, triumphant utterance was:
"Let God judge him, but men suffer him. Of judging of one another there has been enough."
And a fifth man remarked to a friend as he walked away:
"What are we to make of this? To judge by the book, the young fellow is at once guilty and not guilty."
"Bygones ought to be bygones. Of all courses that is the best."
"Yes, for we are too quick. What good can that do?"
"Aye, what?"
At length the dark-browed woman stepped forward. Letting her shawl to her shoulders, straightening hair streaked with grey under a bright blue scarf, and deftly putting aside a skirt she so seated herself beside the young fellow as to screen from the crowd with the height of her figure. Then, raising kindly face, she said civilly, but authoritatively, to the bystanders: