"Fancy Alexander by the side of Pascal," said Ambrose. "What a difference! In Alexander everything showed the real pope: his looks, his words, his bearing, even the glance of his eye. But with Pascal there is nothing! Bah! the Emperor has made a singular choice to fill St. Peter's chair." "Silence!" cried Anselm, "here comes the divinity of the festival, the _Divus Augustus_ himself." At this moment the mob shouted,-- "Long live the Emperor! Hail, Great Augustus!" Frederic appeared mounted on a magnificent charger; by his side rode the Empress Beatrice, and in front was borne the Imperial banner. As he approached the castle, the crowd made a movement, the applause ceased, and all eyes were turned to the tower of Saint Angelo. In place of the image of the mighty Archangel, an immense flag hung from its summit. This unexpected memento of their humiliation created a most painful impression upon the Romans, who looked in vain for the venerated emblem of their patron saint. Alexander's curse, with all its fearful consequences, recurred to their minds, and hushed the cries of rejoicing, even among the paid emissaries of the Chancellor, and it was amid a death-like silence that Frederic moved towards the church of St. Peter. "What does this mean?" said Gervase, who, from the balcony, could not perceive the flag; "everybody is staring at the castle, and the cries of 'Hail to the Emperor! Glory to the great Augustus!' have ceased." "Only look at the Imperial mantle! how it glitters!" "Yes; and see how proudly Barbarossa rides! They might call him _Jupiter tonans_!" In fact, Frederic slowly advanced with the grave and stern bearing of a conqueror. Not a trace of emotion was visible on his countenance, and his eyes glanced calmly upon the admiring multitude. A branch of laurel was entwined upon his diadem, and he bore, in his right hand, the Imperial sceptre, with a more haughty grace than Augustus himself in his triumphal chariot. "The Empress is a gracious lady," said Anselm; "she looks like a lamb by the side of a lion." "Who is that red-bearded noble behind the Emperor?" "Frederic of Hohenstauffen, Duke of Suabia, a good and kind prince, very different from his cousin. They say the Emperor does not trust him, and that the Duke looks so sadly, because Frederic forced him to join his army. "Ah! look there! Here comes the Chancellor Rinaldo! What a handsome little man he is! See how he smiles,--you would never imagine, from his appearance, that he is deceit personified?" A squadron of men-at-arms closed the procession, which was followed by an immense crowd. "Quick, my friends," said Ambrose, "let us go to St. Peter's as fast as we can! If we can only get through the crowd! What a retinue of bishops!" "Yes, seventy-three!--it is a holy number, for both seven and three are in it!"