“What? you here again?” the irritated Annas haughtily jerked out, as though spitting upon his head.

“I wish to betray the Nazarene to you.”

Both held their peace, and continued to gaze attentively at each other.  Iscariot’s look was calm; but a quiet malice, dry and cold, began slightly to prick Annas, like the early morning rime of winter.

“How much do you want for your Jesus?”

“How much will you give?”

Annas, with evident enjoyment, insultingly replied:  “You are nothing but a band of scoundrels.  Thirty pieces—­that’s what we will give.”

And he quietly rejoiced to see how Judas began to squirm and run about—­agile and swift as though he had a whole dozen feet, not two.

“Thirty pieces of silver for Jesus!” he cried in a voice of wild madness, most pleasing to Annas.  “For Jesus of Nazareth!  You wish to buy Jesus for thirty pieces of silver?  And you think that Jesus can be betrayed to you for thirty pieces of silver?” Judas turned quickly to the wall, and laughed in its smooth, white fence, lifting up his long hands.  “Do you hear?  Thirty pieces of silver!  For Jesus!”

With the same quiet pleasure, Annas remarked indifferently: 

“If you will not deal, go away.  We shall find some one whose work is cheaper.”

And like old-clothes men who throw useless rags from hand to hand in the dirty market-place, and shout, and swear and abuse each other, so they embarked on a rabid and fiery bargaining.  Intoxicated with a strange rapture, running and turning about, and shouting, Judas ticked off on his fingers the merits of Him whom he was selling.

“And the fact that He is kind and heals the sick, is that worth nothing at all in your opinion?  Ah, yes!  Tell me, like an honest man!”

“If you—­” began Annas, who was turning red, as he tried to get in a word, his cold malice quickly warming up under the burning words of Judas, who, however, interrupted him shamelessly: 

“That He is young and handsome—­like the Narcissus of Sharon, and the Lily of the Valley?  What?  Is that worth nothing?  Perhaps you will say that He is old and useless, and that Judas is trying to dispose of an old bird?  Eh?”

“If you—­” Annas tried to exclaim; but Judas’ stormy speech bore away his senile croak, like down upon the wind.

“Thirty pieces of silver!  That will hardly work out to one obolus for each drop of blood!  Half an obolus will not go to a tear!  A quarter to a groan.  And cries, and convulsions!  And for the ceasing of His heartbeats?  And the closing of His eyes?  Is all this to be thrown in gratis?” sobbed Iscariot, advancing toward the high priest and enveloping him with an insane movement of his hands and fingers, and with intervolved words.

“Includes everything,” said Annas in a choking voice.

“And how much will you make out of it yourself?  Eh?  You wish to rob Judas, to snatch the bit of bread from his children.  No, I can’t do it.  I will go on to the market-place, and shout out:  ’Annas has robbed poor Judas.  Help!’”