His prayer is heard. The candle descends in the presence of five hundred persons and rests upon his viol. Friar Gerard, the sacristan, accuses him of using incantations, and, seizing the candle irefully, restores it to its place, taking good care to fasten it firmly down. Pierre continues to play. The candle descends anew. The good brother, suspecting him of magic, is more vexed than before and replaces the candle. The enraptured minstrel— “_En vièlant soupire et pleure, La bouche chante et li cuers pleure_” —sighing and weeping, singing with his lips and weeping in heart—continues sweetly to praise the Mother of God. The candle descends the third time. “_Rafaict le cierge le tiers saut._” The crowd, in its transport, cries: “Ring, ring the bells, _Plus biax miracle n’avint jamais_ —greater miracle was never seen.” The minstrel, with streaming eyes, returns the candle to her who has so miraculously rewarded his devotion, and continues during the remainder of his life not only to sing the praises of Our Lady of Roc Amadour, but to offer her every year a candle still larger than the one she so graciously bestowed on him. The moral of this old poem dwells on the obligation of honoring God, not merely with the lips, but with a sincere heart: “Assez braient, et assez crient, Et leurs gorges assez estendent, Mais les cordes pas bien ne tendent. ———— La bouche à Dieu ment et discorde S’a li li cuers ne se concorde” —that is, many bray, and scream, and distend their throats, but their heart-strings are not rightly attuned.... The mouth lies to God, and makes a discord, if the heart be not in harmony therewith.