my words, that the pope's ambassadors are arrived at Capua with the
bull for his coronation, and if they do not enter Castel Nuovo this
very evening, the delay is only to give the new king time to make his
preparations."

The queen bent her head as if a thunderbolt had fallen at her feet.

"When I told you before," said the count, with growing fury, "that we
ought to use force to make a stand against him, that we ought to break
the yoke of this infamous tyranny and get rid of the man before he had
the means of hurting you, you always drew back in childish fear, with a
woman's cowardly hesitation."

Joan turned a tearful look upon her lover.

"God, my God!" she cried, clasping her hands in desperation, "am I to
hear for ever this awful cry of death! You too, Bertrand, you too say
the word, like Robert of Cabane, like Charles of Duras? Wretched man,
why would you raise this bloody spectre between us, to check with icy
hand our adulterous kisses? Enough of such crimes; if his wretched
ambition makes him long to reign, let him be king: what matters his
power to me, if he leaves me with your love?"

"It is not so sure that our love will last much longer."

"What is this, Bertrand? You rejoice in this merciless torture."

"I tell you, madam, that the King of Naples has a black flag ready, and
on the day of his coronation it will be carried before him."

"And you believe," said Joan, pale as a corpse in its shroud, "--you
believe that this flag is a threat?"

"Ay, and the threat begins to be put in execution."

The queen staggered, and leaned against a table to save herself from
falling.

"Tell me all," she cried in a choking voice; "fear not to shock me; see,
I am not trembling. O Bertrand, I entreat you!"

"The traitors have begun with the man you most esteemed, the wisest
counsellor of the crown, the best of magistrates, the noblest-hearted,
most rigidly virtuous----"

"Andrea of Isernia!"

"Madam, he is no more."

Joan uttered a cry, as though the noble old man had been slain before
her eyes: she respected him as a father; then, sinking back, she
remained profoundly silent.

"How did they kill him?" she asked at last, fixing her great eyes in
terror on the count.

"Yesterday evening, as he left this castle, on the way to his own home,
a man suddenly sprang out upon him before the Porta Petruccia: it was
one of Andre's favourites, Conrad of Gottis chosen no doubt because he
had a grievance against th