But God has not yet given to mortals the power to thwart his designs. If for a time he allows the wicked man to prosper, it is to cut him off at the decisive moment of his career. The hand of the Almighty was raised against the master of the world: the cup was full, and at the very moment when Barbarossa was dreaming of new conquests, the avenging angel hovered around his head. The ceremony was nearly at an end. Frederic turned towards the Pope, as if to say: "Well then, speak, repeat the lesson which I have taught you." It appeared as though the sermon which had been prepared and revised by the Emperor, was not to Pascal's liking; still he dared not disobey his master's sign--he descended from the altar. Again the music ceased, and a profound silence prevailed through the church, where all listened anxiously for what the Imperial Pope was to say. But Pascal was not to speak. Scarcely was he in front of the altar, when an extraordinary movement commenced in the crowd; here and there persons fell lifeless. It seemed as though death was smiting its chosen victims. At first it was thought to be merely the result of fainting-fits, so often met with in crowded assemblages; but as the mortality continued to spread, and the corpses immediately became covered with black spots, a great fear seized the minds of all. "He is dead! really dead!" said Gervase, who was supporting the body of his friend Ambrose. "May God have mercy on his soul!" And he made the sign of the cross on his forehead. "But see how black he becomes!" said Anselm. "By all the saints! it is the plague!" Scarcely had he spoken, when his words were repeated by the crowd. "The plague! the plague!" was cried out on all sides. "God help us! the pestilence is in Rome!" exclaimed the people, as they fled tumultuously through the doors to escape from the infected atmosphere. At first the Emperor's face flushed with anger, for he imagined that it was a scheme concocted by the malevolence of his adversaries; but when the crowd began to scatter in disorder, and the terrible cry, "the pestilence is among us," was heard, a mortal dread fell upon the Imperial retinue. The bishops grew pale, and many a remorseful conscience whispered,-- "It is the vengeance of an offended God." Still Frederic gave no signs of fear or agitation; his dauntless spirit was a stranger to any such sentiments. He merely regretted the interruption of the ceremony, that was all. He had erected his triumphal throne in the Church of St. Peter, in the very heart of Christendom, and his eyes gleamed with menace and discontent, as though he would have forced the pestilence itself to recoil before his frown. But death fears no mortal man, not even him who, seated on the topmost pinnacle of successful ambition, thinks to rival God. Already the plague had struck down some of Frederic's own retinue.