'Holy sir, it takes no cognisance of these accidents. The condescensions
of the great compensate them.'
The Parablist, his lips pressed together, nodded gravely twice or
thrice.
'I see,' he said; 'a condescension which ruins two lives.'
He addressed himself, with a deadly sweetness, to the Duke.
'I prithee, who standest for God's vicegerent, call up the Jew to
sentence.'
Jehoshaphat was produced, and placed beside the blubbered, resentful
young popinjay. The Saint addressed him:--
'Wretch, thou art convicted of the crime of defacing the Duke's image;
and he at thine elbow of defacing God's image. Shall man dare the awful
impiety to pronounce the greater guilt thine? Yet, if it merits death
and mutilation, what for this other?'
He paused, and a stir went through the dead stillness of the hall. Then
Bembo addressed one of the tipstaves with ineffable civility:--
'Good officer, this rogue hath sweated coins, say'st?'
'Ay, your worship,' answered the man; 'a hundred gold ducats, if a lire.
Shook 'em in a leathern bag, a' did, like so much rusted harness.'
Bembo nodded.
'They are forfeit, by the token; and he shall labour to provide other
hundred, with cost of metal and stamping.'