“We were all talking last night, and came to the conclusion that the court cannot condemn the innocent.  But if it does, why then—­”

“What then!”

“Why, then it is no court.  And it will be the worse for them when they have to give an account before the real Judge.”

“Before the real!  Is there any ‘real’ left?” sneered Judas.

“And all of our party cursed you; but since you say that you were not the traitor, I think you ought to be tried.”

Judas did not want to hear him out; but turned right about, and hurried down the street in the wake of the retreating crowd.  He soon, however, slackened his pace, mindful of the fact that a crowd always travels slowly, and that a single pedestrian will inevitably overtake it.

When Pilate led Jesus out from his palace, and set Him before the people, Judas, crushed against a column by the heavy backs of the soldiers, furiously turning his head about to see something between two shining helmets, suddenly felt clearly that the worst was over.  He saw Jesus in the sunshine, high above the heads of the crowd, blood-stained, pale with a crown of thorns, the sharp spikes of which pressed into His forehead.

He stood on the edge of an elevation, visible from His head to His small, sunburnt feet, and waited so calmly, was so serene in His immaculate purity, that only a blind man, who perceived not the very sun, could fail to see, only a madman would not understand.  And the people held their peace—­it was so still, that Judas heard the breathing of the soldier in front of him, and how, at each breath, a strap creaked somewhere about his body.

“Yes, it will soon be over!  They will understand immediately,” thought Judas, and suddenly something strange, like the dazzling joy of falling from a giddy height into a blue sparkling abyss, arrested his heart-beats.

Contemptuously drawing his lips down to his rounded well-shaven chin, Pilate flung to the crowd the dry, curt words—­as one throws bones to a pack of hungry hounds—­thinking to cheat their longing for fresh blood and living, palpitating flesh: 

“You have brought this Man before me as a corrupter of the people, and behold I have examined Him before you, and I find this Man guiltless of that of which you accuse Him....”

Judas closed his eyes.  He was waiting.

All the people began to shout, to sob, to howl with a thousand voices of wild beasts and men: 

“Put Him to death!  Crucify Him!  Crucify Him!” And as though in self-mockery, as though wishing in one moment to plumb the very depths of all possible degradation, madness and shame, the crowd cries out, sobs, and demands with a thousand voices of wild beasts and men: 

“Release unto us Barabbas!  But crucify Him!  Crucify Him!”

But the Roman had evidently not yet said his last word.  Over his proud, shaven countenance there passed convulsions of disgust and anger.  He understood!  He has understood all along!  He speaks quietly to his attendants, but his voice is not heard in the roar of the crowd.  What does he say?  Is he ordering them to bring swords, and to smite those maniacs?