though Father Stanislav prepared Zbyshko for death, and gave the last sacraments to him, he went straight from the dungeon to a consultation which lasted almost till daybreak.
Meanwhile the day of execution had come. From early morning crowds had been gathering on the square, for the head of a noble roused more curiosity than that of a common man, and besides this the weather was wonderful. Among women the news had spread also of the youthful years and uncommon beauty of Zbyshko; hence the whole road leading from the castle was blooming as with flowers from whole myriads of comely women of the citizen class. In the windows on the square, and in outbulging balconies were to be seen also caps, gold and velvet head-dresses, or the bare heads of maidens ornamented only with garlands of lilies and roses. The city counsellors, though the affair did not pertain to them really, had all come to lend themselves importance, and had taken their places just behind the knights, who, wishing to show sympathy with the young man, had appeared next the scaffold in a body. Behind the counsellors stood a many-colored crowd, composed of the smaller merchants and handicraftsmen, in the colors of their guilds. Students and children, who had been pushed back, circled about like dissatisfied flies in the midst of the multitude, crowding in wherever there appeared even a little free space. Above that dense mass of human heads was seen the scaffold covered with new cloth, on which were three persons: one the executioner, broad-shouldered and terrible, a German in a red coat and a cowl of the same stuff, with a heavy double-edged sword in his hand,—with him two assistants, their arms bared, and ropes around their loins. At their feet was a block, and a coffin, covered also with cloth; on the towers of the church of the Virgin Mary bells were tolling, filling the place with metallic sound, and frightening flocks of daws and doves.
People looked now at the road leading from the castle, now at the scaffold and the executioner standing upon it with his sword gleaming in the sunlight; then, finally, at the knights, on whom citizens looked always with respect and eagerness. This time there was something to look at, for the most famous were standing in a square near the scaffold. So they admired the breadth of shoulders and the dignity of Zavisha Charny, his raven hair falling to his shoulders. They admired the square stalwart form and the column-like legs of Zyndram of Mashkovitse, and the gigantic, almost preterhu-
