The Pope looked at the poor jester with pity, but the Emperor of Allemaine turned to the King of Sicily, and said, “Is it not rather dangerous, brother, to keep a madman as jester?” And again Robert was pushed back among the serving-men.

It was Holy Week, and the king and the emperor, with all their trains, went every day to the great services in the cathedral.  Something wonderful and holy seemed to make these services more beautiful than ever before.  All the people of Rome felt it:  it was as if the presence of an angel were there.  Men thought of God, and felt His blessing on them.  But no one knew who it was that brought the beautiful feeling.  And when Easter Day came, never had there been so lovely, so holy a day:  in the great churches, filled with flowers, and sweet with incense, the kneeling people listened to the choirs singing, and it was like the voices of angels; their prayers were more earnest than ever before, their praise more glad; there was something heavenly in Rome.

Robert of Sicily went to the services with the rest, and sat in the humblest place with the servants.  Over and over again he heard the sweet voices of the choirs chant the Latin words he had heard long ago:  He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted them of low degree.  And at last, as he listened, his heart was softened.  He, too, felt the strange blessed presence of a heavenly power.  He thought of God, and of his own wickedness; he remembered how selfish he had been, and how little good he had done; he realised, that his power had not been from himself, at all.  On Easter night, as he crept to his bed of straw, he wept, not because he was so wretched, but because he had not been a better king when power was his.

At last all the festivities were over, and the King of Sicily went home to his own land again, with his people.  Robert the jester came home too.

On the day of their home-coming, there was a special service in the royal church, and even after the service was over for the people, the monks held prayers of thanksgiving and praise.  The sound of their singing came softly in at the palace windows.  In the great banquet room, the king sat, wearing his royal robes and his crown, while many subjects came to greet him.  At last, he sent them all away, saying he wanted to be alone; but he commanded the jester to stay.  And when they were alone together the king looked into Robert’s eyes, as he had done before, and said, softly, “Who art thou?”

Robert of Sicily bowed his head.  “Thou knowest best,” he said, “I only know that I have sinned.”

As he spoke, he heard the voices of the monks singing, He hath put down the mighty from their seat,—­and his head sank lower.  But suddenly the music seemed to change; a wonderful light shone all about.  As Robert raised his eyes, he saw the face of the king smiling at him with a radiance like nothing on earth, and as he sank to his knees before the glory of that smile, a voice sounded with the music, like a melody throbbing on a single string,—­