ho is lord supreme, or the King of England, who is
our common friend, or the Patriarch of Aquilea, a good Catholic. If you
do not approve of any of the places we propose, we shall soon be near
you with our army, and so remove all difficulties and delays. Then you
can come forth, and our duel can take place in the presence of both
armies."

After the interchange of these two letters, Louis of Tarentum proposed
nothing further. The garrison at Aversa had capitulated after a heroic
resistance, and it was known only too well that if the King of Hungary
could get so far as the walls of Naples, he would not have to endanger
his life in order to seize that city. Happily the Provencal galleys
had reached port at last. The king and the queen had only just time to
embark and take refuge at Gaeta. The Hungarian army arrived at Naples.
The town was on the point of yielding, and had sent messengers to the
king humbly demanding peace; but the speeches of the Hungarians showed
such insolence that the people, irritated past endurance, took up arms,
and resolved to defend their household gods with all the energy of
despair.

CHAPTER VIII

While the Neapolitans were holding out against their enemy at the Porta
Capuana, a strange scene was being enacted at the other side of the
town, a scene that shows us in lively colours the violence and treachery
of this barbarous age. The widow of Charles of Durazzo was shut up in
the castle of Ovo, and awaiting in feverish anxiety the arrival of
the ship that was to take her to the queen. The poor Princess Marie,
pressing her weeping children to her heart, pale, with dishevelled
locks, fixed eyes, and drawn lips, was listening for every sound,
distracted between hope and fear. Suddenly steps resounded along the
corridor; a friendly voice was heard; Marie fell upon her knees with a
cry of joy: her liberator had come.

Renaud des Baux, admiral of the Provencal squadron, respectfully
advanced, followed by his eldest son Robert and his chaplain.

"God, I thank Thee!" exclaimed Marie, rising to her feet; "we are
saved."

"One moment, madam," said Renaud, stopping her: "you are indeed saved,
but upon one condition."

"A condition?" murmured the princess in surprise.

"Listen, madam. The King of Hungary, the avenger of Andre's murderers,
the slayer of your husband, is at the gates of Naples; the people
and soldiers will succumb, as soon as their last gallant effort is
spent--the army of the