Slowly the Archbishop raised his open hands, holding them for a moment in benediction over the vast assemblage.  Once more the cheers died away, and every head was bowed, then the Archbishop was in his place no longer.  Unseen hands closed the windows, and a moment later the shutters blinded it.  The multitude began to dissolve, and the two wanderers found their way become clearer and clearer.

Together they entered the empty, red Cathedral, and together knelt down in a secluded corner.  After some minutes passed thus Roland remembered that the hour of two had struck while they were gazing at the Archbishop.  Gently he touched the hand of his companion.  They rose, and walked slowly through the great church.

“There,” he whispered, “is where the Emperor is crowned.  The Archbishop of Mayence always performs that ceremony, so, after all, there is some justification for his self-assumed leadership.”

Again out into the sunshine they walked to the Fahrgasse, and then to the bridge, where the Countess paused with an expression of delight at the beauty of the waterside city, glorified by the westering sun.  Crossing the river, and going down the Bruckenstrasse of Sachsenhausen, Roland said: 

“Referring to people who are not Emperors, that is my room at the corner, where I lived when supposed to be in prison.”

“Is that where you made your swords?” she asked.

“No; Greusel’s workshop and mine is farther along that side street.  It is a grimy shop of no importance, but here, on the other side, we have an edifice that counts.  That low building is the Benedictine monastery, and this is its little chapel.”

The Countess made no comment, but stood looking at it for a few moments until her thoughts were interrupted by the solemn tones of a bell striking three.  Roland went up the steps, and held open the door while she passed in, then, removing his hat, he followed her.

XXII

LONG LIVE THEIR MAJESTIES

The most anxious man in all Frankfort was not to be found among the mighty who ruled the Empire, or among the merchants who trafficked therein, or among the people who starved when there was no traffic.  The most anxious man was a small, fussy individual of great importance in his own estimation, cringing to those above him, denouncing those beneath; Herr Durnberg, Master of the Romer, in other words, the Keeper of the Town Hall.  The great masters whom this little master served were imperious and unreasonable.  They gave him too little information regarding their intentions, yet if he failed in his strict duty towards them, they would crush him as ruthlessly as if he were a wasp.