"An old practitioner scents crime, as a tree frog smells rain.

Now, for the first time, I can say with certainty: We have him, and the worst punishment is too little for his deserts.

There shall be an unparalleled execution, something wonderful, magnificent, grand! You have given me important information, and I thank you, Father." "Then you knew nothing ?" faltered the librarian; and, raising his neck higher than usual, the vein in the centre of his forehead swelled with wrath.
"No, Anselme!" said the abbot.

"But it was your duty to speak, as, unfortunately, it was mine to listen.

Come to me again, by and bye; I have something to say to you." The librarian bowed silently, coldly and proudly, and without vouchsafing the magistrate a single glance, went back, not to his books, but to his cell, where he paced up and down a long time, sorrowfully murmuring Lopez's name, striking himself on the mouth, pressing his clenched hand to his brow, and at last throwing himself on his knees to pray for the Jew, before the image of the crucified Redeemer.
As soon as the monk had left the room, the magistrate exclaimed: "What unexpected aid! What series of sins lie before us! First the small ones.