But this time the still unknown victim was only condemned to win a prize of one hundred thousand marks, not to lose his head; that is, unless he lost it from ecstasy.
Joel sat with folded arms, gazing straight ahead of him, being the least moved, probably, in all that large assembly.

Hulda, her head bowed upon her breast, was thinking only of her poor Ole.

As for Sylvius Hogg--but any attempt to describe the state of mind in which Sylvius Hogg found himself would be worse than useless.
"We will now conclude with the drawing of the one hundred thousand mark prize," announced the president.
What a voice! It seemed to proceed from the inmost depths of this solemn-looking man, probably because he was the owner of several tickets which, not having yet been drawn, might still win the capital prize.
The first little girl drew a number from the left urn, and exhibited it to the audience.
"Zero!" said the president.
The zero did not create much of a sensation, however.

The audience somehow seemed to have been expecting it.
"Zero!" said the president, announcing the figure drawn by the second little girl.
Two zeros.

The chances were evidently increasing for all numbers between one and nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine, and every one recollected that Ole Kamp's ticket bore the number 9672.
Strange to say, Sylvius Hogg began to move restlessly about in his chair, as if he had suddenly been stricken with palsy.
"Nine," said the president, stating the number the third little girl had just extracted from the third urn.
Nine! That was the first figure on Ole Kamp's ticket.
"Six!" said the president.
For the fourth little girl was timidly displaying a six to all the eyes riveted upon her.
The chances of winning were now one out of a hundred for all the numbers from one to ninety-nine, inclusive.
Could it be that this ticket of Ole Kamp's was to be the means of placing one hundred thousand marks in that villainous Sandgoist's pocket.