“The advocate ventured it,” replied the judge.  “Your whole bearing proves that you were inveigled into the business.  We want nothing further.  You see, Ferleitner, that evil cannot be eradicated from the world with evil.  To fight evil with evil only increases its power.  But a large heart can pardon such a deed or purpose.  Let us hope meanwhile that our king possesses one.  The Chancellor is getting better.  Here, just look—­sign the paper.”  He pulled out a folded sheet, then an inkpot and a pen.  Konrad bent over the table and groaned while signing his name.

“Ah,” he said, “if only I could be free again!  I should never think of such things again.  The world could go on as it pleased.  I should do my work, and not trouble about anything else.  Only,” and he said it softly, uncertainly, “only I shall not forget God again.”

“There is naturally only a moderate chance,” said the judge.  “In some cases, where it is concerned with the whole——­”

“It is very uncertain, then?” asked Konrad.  “But, my God! how is it to be borne?  If this time is lengthened, how is it to be borne?  This terrible suspense!”

“It can be a time of hope,” said the judge.

“But how long will it last?” asked Konrad.

The judge shrugged his shoulders.  “It may last three weeks, but it might last double that time.”

Konrad asked confidingly:  “Do you think, sir, that a man can hold out?—­with the terror of death lasting for weeks?”

“Haven’t you just a little confidence?” asked the judge.  “Haven’t we all to endure uncertainty?—­the judge as well as the condemned man?”

“But what am I to do?” demanded Konrad.  “How am I to employ myself all the dreadful time?  It’s being buried alive.”

“Unhappily it’s not in my power to give you a better room, though you haven’t the worst cell in the building.  But perhaps you have some other desire that can be granted.  Speak out frankly, Ferleitner,” said the judge.

Therewith he folded the paper, and put the writing materials into his coat pocket.  Konrad followed his proceedings with his eyes.  He could not comprehend how this dread personage came to speak to him in so kindly a fashion.  “As to the room,” he said, “it’s all I need—­when you’ve nothing to do, and are not likely to have anything to do, what can a man want?  If a man isn’t free, nothing else matters.  But one thing—­I have one request, sir.”

“Then speak it,” said the judge, and holding Konrad’s hand firmly in his, broke out with:  “Don’t you see, it’s cruel to think, to believe, that we must be the personal enemies of all whom we’re obliged to condemn.  You think the proceedings in court were so callous, you’ve no idea how we actually feel about the business.  It is not only the accused who passes sleepless nights—­the judge, too, knows them.  We lawyers—­outside our profession—­have founded an association to support and encourage those we are obliged to pronounce guilty, that they may not sink down uncomforted.  So, my dear Ferleitner, you may trust me that, as far as I can, I will alleviate your position.”