beard, which he continually pulled and twitched at nervously as though
its growth on his chin was more a matter of vexation than convenience.
He was apparently not so much interested in the Church festival as he
was in his companion's face, for he was perpetually glancing up at that
brooding countenance, which, half hidden as it was in wild hair and
further concealed by thick moustache and beard, showed no expression at
all, unless an occasional glimpse of full flashing eyes under the bushy
brows, gave a sudden magnetic hint of something dangerous and not to be
trifled with.

"You do not believe anything you hear or read, Sergius Thord!" he said
--"Will you twist your whole life into a crooked attitude of suspicion
against all mankind?" He who was named Sergius Thord, lifted himself
slowly from the shoulders upwards, the action making his great height
and broad chest even more apparent than before. A gleam of white teeth
shone under his black moustache.

"I do not twist my life into a crooked attitude, Johan Zegota," he
replied. "If it is crooked, others have twisted it for me! Why should I
believe what I hear, since it is the fashion to lie? Why should I
accept what I read, since it is the business of the press to deceive
the public? And why do you ask me foolish questions? You should be
better instructed, seeing that your creed is the same as mine!"

"Have I ever denied it?" exclaimed Zegota warmly--"But I have said, and
I say again that I believe the news is true,--and that these howling
hypocrites,--" this with an angry gesture of his hand towards the open
square where the chanting priests who headed the procession were coming
into view--"have truly received an unlooked-for check from the King!"