Crondas was very active in the preparations, bringing faggots to help build the fire, and arranging with his own hands a sort of throne made of branches for his lord. Then he went to tell him all was ready, and the lord came, followed by a crowd of people, who wept and lamented over the peasant's unjust death. Crondas then said to the servants: "Tie him, and set fire to the pile." Meantime the lord was watching the proceedings with deep attention and saying nothing; but his eyes went from the peasant to Crondas and from Crondas back to the peasant, then to the servants who stood by the faggots ready to light the fire. And as the servants were slow in obeying, Crondas cried to them: "Come, come, hurry up! Our lord is waiting." He was in haste to see the death of the peasant; but the poor man said to those who were about to tie him: "Oh, let me make a last prayer, I beg of you!" And, though Crondas begged the lord not to grant this request, the lord extended his hand to command the servants to grant to the peasant that which he had asked; and, as he did so, he saw Crondas make a sign of impatience. The peasant, dropping his sad, haggard eyes, was about to kneel on a stone not far from where his lord was sitting; but, seeing on the stone a little lady-bug just at the place where his knee was at rest, he put it to one side gently, with his hand, so as not to crush it. Then, kneeling down, he began to pray. As the lord watched him, he noticed that the little creature, whose life he had just spared, suddenly opened its bright wings and, taking flight, lighted on Crondas's left hand. Crondas, for no reason except that he was perhaps annoyed at having to wait so long for the execution, put a finger of his right hand on the insect, and almost crushed it. When he lifted it, a pair of broken red wings faintly quivered. At this moment the peasant, having finished his prayer, rose from the stone. The lord, descending from his throne, cried suddenly: "Let that man go! Do not kill him; he is not my brother's murderer. That is impossible!" While speaking thus, the lord kept his eyes fixed on the face of Crondas, which suddenly grew white with fear. However, Crondas approached his master, saying: "But the proofs, my lord? The proofs are there. If you do not find them sufficient to convict this man, whom can you accuse of the murder?" Then the lord, taking Crondas's hand, cried loudly: "Whom can I accuse? Perhaps you, Crondas, for there is blood upon your hand. At the very moment when you pretended to be full of horror for the crime of murder, you killed for mere pleasure this poor little creature, which had lighted unsuspectingly upon your hand, but which the peasant, unjustly condemned, had spared, when his own death stared him in the face." Then, seizing Crondas, and looking sternly and fixedly at the cowering fellow, the lord thundered: "Now, confess your sin!"