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 quainting him with the treaty made by his son, and asking him if he intended to carry out the terms. The emperor declared his willingness to ratify the treaty so far as promises were concerned, but he confessed that he saw no probability of keeping his promise. What Dandolo wanted, however, was the promise. It would be his business, later on, to remind the emperor of his engagements.

The promise given, a grand triumphant entry was made into Constantinople, the young emperor riding between Dandolo and Count Baldwin.

There was no enthusiasm among the people at the return of the blind old monarch; there was so little national spirit left among them, that they conceived no hope of future improvement in the gallant young prince who rode between the Doge of Venice and the Count of Flanders. They despaired of better things; they were like the Romans when one bad pope came after another bad pope, and they could hope for nothing better than new and more biting epigrams. The Greeks of Constantinople looked with hatred on their rulers, as they looked with contempt upon their priests.

The present state of things, indeed, offered small cause for congratulation to a patriotic mind. To raise the 200,000 marks promised by the prince who had brought these Western warriors upon the city, the imperial palace was stripped of plate, gold, silver, and jewels; the altars were robbed of the sacred vessels, and the holy pictures stripped of their silver frames; the monasteries were deprived of the treasures which pious men and