Now, a woman-petted, cake-fed belswagger is too much of an anomaly for the test of nerves. Tassino, shouted at, gave an hysteric jump which brought him to the very brink of tears. He was really an ill-bred little coward, made arrogant by spoiling. He had the greatest pity and tenderness for himself, and to any sense of his being lost would always respond with a lump in his throat. Now he suddenly realised his position, alone and baited before all—no petticoat to fly to, no sympathy to expect from a converted tyrant, none from a mob which, habitually the butt to his viciousness, would rejoice in his discomfiture. Actually the little beast began to whimper. ’Darest thou!’ he cried, stamping. ’Didst thou this thing?’ repeated Bernardo. ’It is no business of thine.’ ’Didst thou this thing?’ ’An oaf’s word against——’ ’Didst thou this thing?’ ’Lord Duke!’ appealed Tassino. ’Didst thou this thing?’ The victim fairly burst into tears. ’If I say no——’ ’Die, Ananias!’ shouted the Duke. His eyes gleamed maniacally. He half rose in his chair. He seemed as if furious to foreclose on a dénouement his superstition had already anticipated. Tassino fell upon his knees. ’I did it!’ he screamed. The Duke sank back, his lips twitching and grinning. Then he glanced covertly at Bembo, and rubbed his hands together, with a motion part gloating, part deprecatory. The Ser Ludovico’s eyes, shaded under his palm, were very busy, to and fro. Bembo stood like frowning marble. ’The law, Master Scrivener?’ said he quietly. The kneeling clerk murmured from a dry throat— ’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.’ Jehoshaphat, secure of his limbs, shrieked derisive— ’God of Ishril! O, yes! O, to be sure! I can bleed moneys!’ ’Nay,’ said the Saint, ’but sweat them. Go!’