"I wish letters and science to shed splendor upon my reign. Were you less of a barbarian, I would have you assist at a sitting of our academy. We there assume the illustrious names of antiquity. Eginhard is called 'Homer,' Clement 'Horace,' and I 'King David.' These immortal names fit us as giants' armors do pigmies. But, at least, we do honor, at our best, to those geniuses. Now, however," said the Emperor, rising and breaking off the thread of his discourse on his academy, "let us, like good Catholics, proceed to church, and hear mass upon our knees." CHAPTER VI. THE BISHOP OF LIMBURG. Preceding his suite, that consisted of Eginhard, Amael, Vortigern and the newly-created clerk Bernard, the Emperor left the school-room and hobbled his way along a winding gallery. Encountering at one of the sharp and rather dark turns a young and handsome female slave, Charles addressed her with the same familiarity that he ever used towards the innumerable women of all conditions that stocked the palace. The Emperor chucked her under the chin, put his arm around her waist, and was about to carry his libertine freedom even further when, recollecting that, despite the darkness of the spot, he might be seen by the men in his suite, he motioned to the female slave that she withdraw, and laughing, observed to Amael: "Charles likes to show himself accessible to his subjects." "And above all to the female ones," retorted the aged Breton. "But I know that the priest's holy-water sprinkler will readily absolve you of all your sins." "Oh, the pagan of a Breton; the pagan of a Breton!" murmured the Emperor as he hobbled along and presently entered the basilica of Aix-la-Chapelle, contiguous to the palace. Vortigern and his grandfather were both dazzled by the indescribable magnificence of the temple, where all the attendants at the imperial palace were now gathered. At a distance Vortigern discerned, seated near the choir and among the numerous concubines of Charles, the Emperor's daughters and grand-daughters, clad in brilliant apparel, with the blonde and charming Thetralde close to her sister Hildrude. The Emperor took his accustomed seat at the chanter's desk among the sumptuously dressed choristers. One of these respectfully offered the Emperor an ebony baton, with which he beat time and gave the signal for the several chants in the liturgy. A little before the end of each stanza Charles, by way of signal, would raise his shrill voice and emit a gutteral cry, so strange and weird, that, on one of these occasions, Vortigern, whose eyes had accidentally encountered the large blue eyes of Thetralde obstinately fixed upon him, could hardly keep from laughing outright. So ridiculous was the figure cut by the Emperor, that despite the imposing appearance of the ceremony and despite the embarrassment into which the glances of Thetralde threw him, the youth's sense of decorum was severely taxed.