ir station round the house to prevent the
people outside from disturbing a ceremony which was to take place before
the eyes of an immense crowd, assembled suddenly, as by a miracle, upon
the square. At the back of the court stood an altar, and upon the steps
lay two crimson velvet cushions embroidered with the fleur-de-lys of
France and the ducal crown. Charles came forward, clad in a dazzling
dress, and holding by the hand the queen's sister, the Princess Marie,
at that time almost thirteen years of age. She knelt down timidly on one
of the cushions, and when Charles had done the same, the grand almoner
of the Duras house asked the young duke solemnly what was his intention
in appearing thus humbly before a minister of the Church. At these words
Master Nicholas of Melazzo took his place on the left of the altar, and
read in a firm, clear voice, first, the contract of marriage between
Charles and Marie, and then the apostolic letters from His Holiness
the sovereign pontiff, Clement VI, who in his own name removing all
obstacles that might impede the union, such as the age of the young
bride and the degrees of affinity between the two parties, authorised
his dearly beloved son Charles, Duke of Durazzo and Albania, to take in
marriage the most illustrious Marie of Anjou, sister of Joan, Queen of
Naples and Jerusalem, and bestowed his benediction on the pair.

The almoner then took the young girl's hand, and placing it in that of
Charles, pronounced the prayers of the Church. Charles, turning half
round to the people, said in a loud voice--

"Before God and man, this woman is my wife."

"And this man is my husband," said Marie, trembling.

"Long live the Duke and Duchess of Durazzo!" cried the crowd, clapping
their hands. And the young pair, at once mounting two beautiful horses
and followed by their cavaliers and pages, solemnly paraded through the
town, and re-entered their palace to the sound of trumpets and cheering.

When this incredible news was brought to the queen, her first feeling
was joy at the recovery of her sister; and when Bertrand of Artois was
eager to head a band of barons and cavaliers and bent on falling upon
the cortege to punish the traitor, Joan put up her hand to stop him with
a very mournful look.

"Alas!" she said sadly, "it is too late. They are legally married, for
the head of the Church--who is moreover by my grandfather's will the
head of our family--has granted his permission. I only pit