Titus. A red and white variegated pink lies before him on the desk. Now he takes it up and presses it to his large nose. The farmer of Tollhof, called the jester, who sits beside him, hands him an open snuff-box and says something. It is evidently, "Landolin is very much changed." Titus nods, takes a pinch of snuff, and sneezes loudly. The host of the Ritter inn, who is seated on the front bench, turns around, and says, "Your health!" and whispers something to the lumberman, Dietler. Who knows that the fickle host has not abandoned Landolin as a dead man, and commenced paying court to Titus! The other members of the jury are most all well-to-do, comfortable farmers--among them Walderjoergli's son, dressed in the old-time costume, with a red vest--have folded their large hands upon the desks, and look steadily before them. The solemn, impressive ceremony of taking the oath is over; the witnesses are sent out of the court-room; the charge is read. While the reading is going on, the counselor drums with a large pencil on a volume of the statutes before him. It may be he is gently playing a tune, for he keeps perfect time. He is a young man with a heavy moustache, which he smooths incessantly; and an unframed eye-glass, attached to a broad, black ribbon, is fastened on his left eye. There is something in the appearance of the counselor that suggests a soldierly combativeness, and, in truth, he is an officer of the Landwehr. The glance through the eye-glass, which sparkles strangely, is often turned upon Landolin, and Landolin is uneasy under it. He would like to say: "Please put the glass down," but he may not. Landolin's lawyer has risen to his feet, and leans on the railing of the prisoner's dock. His hands are thrust in his pantaloon pockets. Sometimes he turns his head and exchanges a few brief words with Landolin. The charge is manslaughter. The witnesses are called; and before the first one appears, the lawyer for the defense announces that he has telegraphed for the district physician, for the purpose of obtaining his professional opinion regarding Vetturi's frailty. CHAPTER XXX. Landolin sat perfectly still, and looked at his hands. They had grown soft and white in prison. Only when a new witness was called, he raised his eyes and watched him narrowly. The witnesses in favor of the accused spoke hesitatingly. They had seen Vetturi fall on a heap of paving-stones, but whether the stone that had been thrown had gone past him, that they could not say with certainty. The blacksmith, from the upper village, was the only one who was sure that he had seen it quite plainly.