“Profane prince!” said Jerome; “is it at the altar thou choosest to insult the servants of the altar?--but, Manfred, thy impious schemes are known. Heaven and this virtuous lady know them:--nay, frown not, prince. The Church despises thy menaces. Her thunders will be heard above thy wrath. Dare to proceed in thy cursed purpose of a divorce, until her sentence be known, and here I launch her anathema at thy head.” “Audacious rebel!” said Manfred, endeavouring to conceal the awe with which the friar’s words inspired him; “dost thou presume to threaten thy lawful prince?” “Thou art no lawful prince,” said Jerome; “thou art no prince:--go, discuss thy claim with Frederic; and when that is done----” “It is done,” replied Manfred: “Frederic accepts Matilda’s hand, and is content to waive his claim, unless I have no male issue.”--As he spoke those words, three drops of blood fell from the nose of Alfonso’s statue. Manfred turned pale, and the princess sunk on her knees. “Behold!” said the friar; “mark this miraculous indication that the blood of Alfonso will never mix with that of Manfred!” “My gracious lord,” said Hippolita, “let us submit ourselves to Heaven. Think not thy ever obedient wife rebels against thy authority. I have no will but that of my lord and the Church. To that revered tribunal let us appeal. It does not depend on us to burst the bonds that unite us. If the Church shall approve the dissolution of our marriage, be it so--I have but few years, and those of sorrow, to pass. Where can they be worn away so well as at the foot of this altar, in prayers for thine and Matilda’s safety?” “But thou shalt not remain here until then,” said Manfred. “Repair with me to the castle, and there I will advise on the proper measures for a divorce. But this meddling friar comes not thither: my hospitable roof shall nevermore harbour a traitor--and for thy reverence’s offspring,” continued he, “I banish him from my dominions. He, I ween, is no sacred personage, nor under the protection of the Church. Whoever weds Isabella, it shall not be Father Falconara’s started-up son.” “They start up,” said the friar, “who are suddenly beheld in the seat of lawful princes; but they wither away like the grass, and their place knows them no more.” Manfred, casting a look of scorn at the friar, led Hippolita forth; but at the door of the church whispered one of his attendants to remain concealed about the convent, and bring him instant notice if any one from the castle should repair thither. CHAPTER V