id not trust Judas, who he had heard
was a bad, untruthful man, and he had no confidence in his flippant
faith in the cowardice of the disciples, and of the people. Annas
believed in his own power, but he feared bloodshed, feared a serious
riot, such as the insubordinate, irascible people of Jerusalem lent
itself to so easily; he feared, in fact, the violent intervention of the
Roman authorities. Fanned by opposition, fertilised by the red blood
of the people, which vivifies everything on which it falls, the heresy
would grow stronger, and stifle in its folds Annas, the government, and
all his friends. So, when Iscariot knocked at his door a second time
Annas was perturbed in spirit and would not admit him. But yet a third
and a fourth time Iscariot came to him, persistent as the wind, which
beats day and night against the closed door and blows in through its
crevices.

"I see that the most astute Annas is afraid of something," said Judas
when at last he obtained admission to the high priest.

"I am strong enough not to fear anything," Annas answered haughtily. And
Iscariot stretched forth his hands and bowed abjectly.

"What do you want?"

"I wish to betray the Nazarene to you."

"We do not want Him."

Judas bowed and waited, humbly fixing his gaze on the high priest.

"Go away."

"But I am bound to return. Am I not, revered Annas?"

"You will not be admitted. Go away!"

But yet again and again Judas called on the aged Annas, and at last was
admitted.

Dry and malicious, worried with thought, and silent, he gazed on the
Traitor, and, as it were, counted the hairs on his knotted head. Judas
also said nothing, and seemed in his turn to be counting the somewhat
sparse grey hairs in the beard of the high priest.

"What? you here again?" the irritated Annas haughtily jerked out, as
though spitting upon his head.

"I wish to betray the Nazarene to you."

Both held their peace, and continued to gaze attentively at each other.
Iscariot's look was calm; but a quiet malice, dry and cold, began
slightly to prick Annas, like the early morning rime of winter.

"How much do you want for your Jesus?"

"How much will you give?"

Annas, with evident enjoyment, insultingly replied: "You are nothing but
a band of scoundrels. Thirty pieces--that's what we will give."

And he quietly rejoiced to see how Judas began to squirm and run
about--agile and swift as though he had a whole dozen feet, not two.

"Thirty piece