Konrad cowered down and stared at the table.

On it lay everything--paper, ink, pens. What should he write? He
might describe his sadness, but how did a man begin to do that? He
lifted up his face as if searching for something. His glance fell
through the window on to the wall, the upper part of which was lighted
by the evening sun. The mountain tops glowed like that. Ah, world,
beautiful world! Still three weeks. Or double that time. Then--the
very beating of his heart hurt him; his temple throbbed as though
struck by a hammer. For he always thought of the one thing--and it
suddenly flashed into his mind--there were other executioners! His
supper was there--a tin can with rice soup and a piece of bread. He
swallowed it mechanically to the last crumb. Then came night, and the
star was again visible in the scrap of sky between the roof and the
chimney. Konrad gazed at it reverently for the few minutes until it
vanished. Then the long, dark, miserable night. And this was called
living! And it was for such life that you petitioned the king. But if
a king grants mercy, then the sun shines. The kindness shown him by
the judge had strengthened him a little, but the last of his surging
thoughts was always, "Hopeless!"

The next night Konrad had another visitor--his mother, in her Sunday
gown, just as she used to go to communion. And there was some one with
her. She went up to her son's bed, and said: "Konrad, I bring you a
kind friend."

When he felt for her hand, she was no longer there, but in the middle
of the dim cell stood the Lord Jesus. His white garment hung down to
the ground, His long hair lay over His shoulders. His shining face was
turned towards Konrad.