Passionate discussion and wagering began. It would have struck a keen
observer that good broadcloth expected condemnation, while fustian and
rags eagerly desired acquittal. A big man of imposing presence asked
in a loud tone, over the heads of the people, if anyone would bet him
ten ducats that the wretch would hang.

A starved-looking little fellow declared himself willing to take up the
bet. The handsome man turned his head in its silk hat, and when he saw
the starved, undersized creature, murmured sleepily, "He! he'll bet ten
ducats with me! My dear sir, you'd better go home to your mother and
ask her to give you a couple of pennies."

Laughter followed; but it was interrupted. The crowd swayed suddenly,
as when a gust of wind passes over the surface of water. A man
appeared on the balcony of the law courts. He had a short, dark beard;
his head with its high forehead was uncovered. He stepped forward
ceremoniously to the railing, and raised his hand to enforce silence.
And when the murmur of the crowd died away, he exclaimed in a thin
voice, but pronouncing every syllable clearly, "The prisoner, Konrad
Ferleitner, is found guilty by a majority of two-thirds of the jury,
and in the name of his Majesty the King is condemned to die by hanging."

He stood for a moment after making the announcement, and then went back
into the house. A few isolated exclamations came from the crowd.

"To make a martyr of him! Enthusiasm is infectious!"

"An enthusiast! If he's an enthusiast, I'm a rascal!"

"Why not?" replied a shock-headed man with a laugh.