ached it he straightened himself with a violent effort, and
looked calmly around; but he must have felt something like a veil
before his eyes, for he repeatedly drew his hands over them. He saw his
son Peter, who nodded to him, but he only answered with a slight motion
of his head. He recognized men and women from his and neighboring
villages; but Cushion-Kate's red kerchief was not to be seen.

He surveyed the jury with a keen scrutiny. He knew them all. They all
stared at him, but no one of them gave him to understand, by so much as
a motion of the eyelids: I know you and am friendly to you. The miller
was not on the jury.

Who is foreman?

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 e