The other actor in this silent scene, was a young man with a pale and agitated countenance, which betrayed the anxiety of his mind, and the deep interest he took in the events of the day. Yet not to the place reserved for the judges, nor the doors through which the prisoner would be led, did he look. Suspiciously examining every bench in the hall, perceiving (so to speak) the mass of spectators, the long lines of which rose one above another, he examined the most remote, even, without perceiving what he was evidently so anxious to find. At last, by a sudden start, he attracted the attention of those near him,—a half-stifled cry burst from his lips; he had perceived the lonely woman on the remote bench.
"Do you know that lady?" said a young man who sat upon the advocates' bench.
"I know her?" said he, "not at all."
"Excuse me, you seemed surprised when you saw her."
"The fact was, I had not remarked those seats; they are real opera boxes."
"Look again, Signor, the lady amuses herself strangely."
"I see nothing, sir," said the pale young man, who still kept his eyes fixed upon the lady.
"Three times," said the first speaker, "she has placed her hand upon her hair, as if she would point out to somebody a diamond pin which shines amid her jetty locks like a star in a stormy sky."
"You think so?"
"I am sure of it, it is a signal—and see, she has taken her pin from her hair, and is imploring. Ah! sir, what a pretty Venus hand. One kiss on her hand, and I would die content!"