The king on the throne looked at him.  “Who art thou, and what dost thou here?” he asked.  And though his voice was just like Robert’s own, it had something in it sweet and deep, like the sound of bells.

“I am the king!” cried Robert of Sicily.  “I am the king, and you are an impostor!”

The courtiers started from their seats, and drew their swords.  They would have killed the crazy man who insulted their king; but he raised his hand and stopped them, and with his eyes looking into Robert’s eyes he said, “Not the king; you shall be the king’s jester!  You shall wear the cap and bells, and make laughter for my court.  You shall be the servant of the servants, and your companion shall, be the jester’s ape.”

With shouts of laughter, the courtiers drove Robert of Sicily from the banquet hall; the waiting-men, with laughter, too, pushed him into the soldiers’ hall; and there the pages brought the jester’s wretched ape, and put a fool’s cap and bells on Robert’s head.  It was like a terrible dream; he could not believe it true, he could not understand what had happened to him.  And when he woke next morning, he believed it was a dream, and that he was king again.  But as he turned his head, he felt the coarse straw under his cheek instead of the soft pillow, and he saw that he was in the stable, with the shivering ape by his side.  Robert of Sicily was a jester, and no one knew him for the king.

Three long years passed.  Sicily was happy and all things went well under the king, who was not Robert.  Robert was still the jester, and his heart grew harder and more bitter with every year.  Many times, during the three years, the king, who had his face and voice, had called him to himself, when none else could hear, and had asked him the one question, “Who art thou?” And each time that he asked it his eyes looked into Robert’s eyes, to find his heart.  But each time Robert threw back his head and answered, proudly, “I am the king!” And the other king’s eyes grew sad and stern.

At the end of three years, the Pope called the Emperor of Allemaine and the King of Sicily, his brothers, to a great meeting in his city of Rome.  The King of Sicily went, with all his soldiers and courtiers and servants,—­a great procession of horsemen and footmen.  Never had there been seen a finer sight than the grand train, men in bright armour, riders in wonderful cloaks of velvet and silk, servants, carrying marvellous presents to the Pope.  And at the very end rode Robert, the jester.  His horse was poor and old, many-coloured, and the ape rode with him.  Every one in the villages through which they passed ran after the jester, and pointed and laughed.

The Pope received his brothers and their trains in the square before Saint Peter’s.  With music and flags and flowers he made the King of Sicily welcome, and greeted him as his brother.  In the midst of it, the jester broke through the crowd and threw himself before the Pope.  “Look at me!” he cried; “I am your brother, Robert of Sicily!  This man is an impostor, who has stolen my throne.  I am Robert, the king!”