om Budapesth, and
never left him for a minute. Andre was at this time perhaps eighteen
years old: at first sight one was struck by the extreme regularity of
his features, his handsome, noble face, and abundant fair hair;
but among all these Italian faces, with their vivid animation, his
countenance lacked expression, his eyes seemed dull, and something hard
and icy in his looks revealed his wild character and foreign extraction.
His tutor's portrait Petrarch has drawn for us: crimson face, hair and
beard red, figure short and crooked; proud in poverty, rich and miserly;
like a second Diogenes, with hideous and deformed limbs barely concealed
beneath his friar's frock.

In the third group stood the widow of Philip, Prince of Tarentum,
the king's brother, honoured at the court of Naples with the title of
Empress of Constantinople, a style inherited by her as the granddaughter
of Baldwin II. Anyone accustomed to sound the depths of the human heart
would at one glance have perceived that this woman under her ghastly
pallor concealed an implacable hatred, a venomous jealousy, and an
all-devouring ambition. She had her three sons about her--Robert,
Philip, and Louis, the youngest. Had the king chosen out from among
his nephews the handsomest, bravest, and most generous, there can be no
doubt that Louis of Tarentum would have obtained the crown. At the age
of twenty-three he had already excelled the cavaliers of most renown
in feats of arms; honest, loyal, and brave, he no sooner conceived a
project than he promptly carried it out. His brow shone in that clear
light which seems to serve as a halo of success to natures so privileged
as his; his fine eyes, of a soft and velvety black, subdued the hearts
of men who could not resist their charm, and his caressing smile made
conquest sweet. A child of destiny, he had but to use his will; some
power unknown, some beneficent fairy had watched over his birth, and
undertaken to smooth away all obstacles, gratify all desires.

Near to him, but in the fourth group, his cousin Charles of Duras stood
and scowled. His mother, Agnes, the widow of the Duke of Durazzo and
Albania, another of the king's brothers, looked upon him affrighted,
clutching to her breast her two younger sons, Ludovico, Count of
Gravina, and Robert, Prince of Morea. Charles, pale-faced, with short
hair and thick beard, was glancing with suspicion first at his dying
uncle and then at Joan and the little Marie, then aga