The king laughed scornfully, and said, “It is well that such words are sung in Latin, for there is no power on earth that can push me from my throne.”
Then he leaned back yawning, and fell asleep.
When he awoke it was already night; the church was empty and all in darkness.
The king was angry at finding himself alone. He groped his way toward the great doors, but found them locked.
Then he thought of the windows, but they were high above his reach. Then he became frightened and cried aloud. He listened, but all that he heard was the resounding echoes of his cries, as they rang, again and again, through the high, vaulted ceiling of the church.
He knocked with his fists against the doors, and swore awful oaths against every one in his court. He became so angry that he tore his magnificent robes into shreds. He had long since lost his hat and cloak.
At length the sexton of the church heard the noise, and he thought that perhaps thieves were breaking into the church, so he lit his lantern and went to the door. When he could make himself heard, he asked, “Who is there?”
The king, half choked with rage, answered fiercely, “Open, ’tis I, the king. Are you afraid?”
The frightened sexton muttered to himself: “It is some drunken beggar, or some one crazy;” and, turning the great key, he flung open the doors.
A man in torn garments, without hat or cloak, rushed past him. He neither looked at him nor spoke, but, leaping into the darkness, vanished almost like a spectre from his sight.