With the quiet firmness which harmonized so perfectly with a personal appearance that inspired confidence, the priest now frankly but respectfully expressed what he thought he had observed.

True, he attributed the Emperor’s deep despondency to totally different causes, but he openly deplored the sorrowful agitation which the memories of the beloved dead had awakened in his Majesty.

In natural, simple words, the learned man, skilled in the art of language, represented to the imperial widower how little reason he had to mourn his devout wife.  He was rather justified in regarding her death hour as the first of a happy birthday.  For the sleeper whose dream here on earth he, Charles, had beautified in so many ways, a happy waking had long since followed in the land for which she had never ceased to yearn.  For him, the Emperor, Heaven still had great tasks in this world, and many a victory awaited him.  If his prayer was heard, and his Majesty should decide to battle for the holiest cause, sorrowful anxieties would vanish from his pathway as the mists of dawn scatter before the rising sun.  He well knew the gravity of the demands which every day imposed upon his Majesty, but he could give him the assurance that nothing could be more pleasing to Heaven than that he, who was chosen as its champion, should, by mastering them, enjoy the gifts with which Eternal Love set its board as abundantly for the poorest carter as for the mightiest ruler.

Then he spoke of the surprise of the night before, and how gratefully he had heard that music had once more exerted its former magic power.  Its effect would be permanent, even though physical suffering and sorrowful memories might interrupt it for a few brief hours.

“That,” he concluded, “Nature herself just at this season teaches us to hope.  This day of fasting and sadness will be followed by a series of the brightest weeks—­the time of leafage, blossom, and bird songs, which is so dear to the merciful mother of God.  May the month of May, called by the Germans the joy month, and which dawns to-day with bright sunshine and a clear, blue sky, be indeed a season of joy to your Majesty!”

“God grant it!” replied the Emperor dully, and then, with a shrug of the shoulders, added:  “Besides, I can not imagine whence such joy should come to me.  A boy’s bell-like voice sang to me yesterday, ’Quia amore langueo.’  This heart, too, longs for love, but it will never find it on earth.”

“Why not, if your Majesty sends forth to seek it?” replied the confessor eagerly.  “The Gospel itself gives a guarantee of success.  ’Seek, and ye shall find,’ it promises.  To the heart which longs for love the all-bountiful Father sends that for which it longs to meet it halfway.”

“When it is young,” added the Emperor, shrugging his shoulders impatiently.  “But when the soul’s power of flight has failed, who will bestow the ability to traverse the half of the way allotted to it?”