stupid fellow might imagine that he was pitied. But that was not the
case. As a man sows, he reaps.

The prisoner stood up quickly and looked distractedly about him. When
he recognised the gaoler he felt for his hand. He grasped it firmly,
and said hoarsely: "I want to ask something. Send me a priest."

"Oh, at last!" grumbled the old man. "These atheists! In the end they
crawl to the Cross."

"I'm not an atheist," calmly replied the prisoner.

"No? Well, it's all the same. You shall have a father-confessor."

Konrad had not meant a confessor. To set himself right with God? That
might come with time. But what he now most desired was a human being.
No one else would come. No one will have anything to do with a ruined
man. Each man thanks God that he is not such a one. But the priest
must come.

In about half an hour the condemned man started, every sound at the
door alarmed him--some one came. A monk quietly entered the cell. He
slipped along in sandals. The dull light from the window showed an old
man with a long, grey beard and cheerful-looking eyes. His gown of
rough cloth was tied round the waist with a white cord, from which a
rosary hung. He greeted the prisoner, reaching for his hand: "May I
say good evening? I should like to, if I may."

"I sent for you, Father. I don't know if you are aware how things are
with me," said Konrad.