  I was told it from heaven in a dream, twenty years ago;
ah, yes, I was to be pope!--and I _should_ have been pope, for Heaven
had said it--but the King dissolved my religious house, and I, poor
obscure unfriended monk, was cast homeless upon the world, robbed of my
mighty destiny!” Here he began to mumble again, and beat his forehead in
futile rage, with his fist; now and then articulating a venomous curse,
and now and then a pathetic “Wherefore I am nought but an archangel--I
that should have been pope!”

So he went on, for an hour, whilst the poor little King sat and
suffered.