Andre’s mother, after rapidly running through the document, turned her eyes on the monk with yet some traces of mistrust in her manner, not venturing to give way to her sudden joy.

“Yes, madam,” said the monk, raising his head, his plain features lighted up by his glance of intelligence—­“yes, madam, you will believe your eyes, perhaps, though you would never believe my words:  this is not the dream of an active imagination, the hallucination of a credulous mind, the prejudice of a limited intellect; it is a plan slowly conceived, painfully worked out, my daily thought and my whole life’s work.  I have never ignored the fact that at the court of Avignon your son had powerful enemies; but I knew also that on the very day I undertook a certain solemn engagement in the prince’s name, an engagement to withdraw those laws that had caused coldness between the pope and Robert; who was in general so devoted to the Church, I knew very well that my offer would never be rejected, and this argument of mine I kept back for the last.  See, madam, my calculations are correct; your enemies are put to shame and your son is triumphant.”

Then turning to Andre, who was just corning in and stood dumbfounded at the threshold on hearing the last words, he added—­

“Come, my son, our prayers are at last fulfilled:  you are king.”

“King!” repeated Andre, transfixed with joy, doubt, and amazement.

“King of Sicily and Jerusalem:  yes, my lord; there is no need for you to read this document that brings the joyful, unexpected news.  You can see it in your mother’s tears; she holds out her arms to press you to her bosom; you can see it in the happiness of your old teacher; he falls on his knees at your feet to salute you by this title, which he would have paid for with his own blood had it been denied to you much longer.”

“And yet,” said Elizabeth, after a moment’s mournful reflection, “if I obey my presentiments, your news will make no difference to our plans for departure.”

“Nay, mother,” said Andre firmly, “you would not force me to quit the country to the detriment of my honour.  If I have made you feel some of the bitterness and sorrow that have spoiled my own young days because of my cowardly enemies, it is not from a poor spirit, but because I was powerless, and knew it, to take any sort of striking vengeance for their secret insults, their crafty injuries, their underhand intrigues.  It was not because my arm wanted strength, but because my head wanted a crown.  I might have put an end to some of these wretched beings, the least dangerous maybe; but it would have been striking in the dark; the ringleaders would have escaped, and I should never have really got to the bottom of their infernal plots.  So I have silently eaten out my own heart in shame and indignation.  Now that my sacred rights are recognised by the Church, you will see, my mother, how these terrible barons, the queen’s counsellors, the governors of the kingdom, will lower their heads in the dust:  for they are threatened with no sword and no struggle; no peer of their own is he who speaks, but the king; it is by him they are accused, by the law they shall be condemned, and shall suffer on the scaffold.”