"As the daughter of the Grand Acolyth," he replied, "she will be one of the principal dames of the Court. Her father's office is to follow the Emperor wherever he goes. Therefore she should be in close attendance upon the Empress." The cavalcade was halted presently in the outer courtyard of the Imperial residence. The lords and knights dismounted, formed their ranks anew, and under the guidance of Court chamberlains, marched through the inner courtyard, paved with marble and decorated with flowering trees and spouting fountains, up a broad flight of tesselated steps, past a portico of granite monoliths and so into the Hall of Audience. Hugh caught his breath at the first glimpse of that gorgeous vista. "May the Virgin aid me!" he stammered. "'Tis as long as a jousting-field!" Columns of Parian marble, onyx, jasper, malachite, jade, polished granite, supported the lofty roof. The walls and floor were covered with mosaics of contrasting stones, cunningly carved and blended. The effect of the whole was a dazzling perspective of glowing colours, interspersed with portraits of Emperors, Empresses and generals. From the roof hung bronze lamps, supported by golden chains and burning scented oil. At the farther end, on an elevated throne that blazed with jewels, sat the Emperor Isaac, a frail, quavering, white-haired old man, who trembled under the weight of the crown that mocked the contrast of his gaudy vestments with his senile lips and seared-out eyes. His Empress, the Augusta Margaret, sister of King Emeric of Hungary, a stately dame who had been spared the rigours of his captivity, sat on a slightly lower throne beside him. Around them were clustered a brilliant court, and at the doddering Emperor's elbow Hugh marked the scarlet surcoat and winged helm of Sir Cedric. But of Edith he saw no trace amongst the bevy of beautiful ladies who attended the Empress. The Crusaders, so different in their stained and rusty armour and tattered surcoats from the richness of the Greeks, paused in front of the steps to the throne; and Boniface stood forward with the Young Alexius. "Fair lord," he said, "behold, we bring back to you your son!" "Eh? Eh?" mumbled the Emperor. "My--my son? Yes, yes. My son." One of the group of courtiers behind the Emperor leaned over and whispered in his ear. Hugh nudged Matteo. The courtier was the Cæsar Michael Comnenus. "Eh? Yes, yes," Isaac continued as Comnenus stepped back. "You have brought my son. I thank you, lords. I have been sorely tried. The majesty of Cæsar's heir hath been set at naught. The wicked have prevailed a while. But God hath--hath----" He seemed to fumble for words and turned the hollow cavities that were his eyes from side to side.--"Where is my son?" he ended querulously. Alexius knelt on the topmost step of the throne, and kissed his father's limp hand. Neither one of the pair showed any emotion, but they spoke rapidly together in Greek.