arriers; he no
longer concealed his shameful plans of seduction; he spread before the
poor girl's eyes pearl necklaces and caskets of diamonds; he passed from
the most glowing passion to the blackest fury, from the humblest prayers
to the most horrible threats. The poor child was shut up in a cellar
where there was hardly a gleam of daylight, and every morning a frightful
gaoler came and threw her a bit of black bread, repeating with oaths that
it only depended upon herself to alter all this by becoming the prince's
mistress. This cruelty continued for two years. The princess had gone
on a long journey, and my mother's poor parents believed that their
daughter was still happy with her protectress. On her return, having; no
doubt fresh sins for which she needed forgiveness, she took my mother
from her dungeon, assumed the liveliest indignation at this horrible
treatment, about which she appeared to have known nothing, wiped her
tears, and by an abominable refinement of perfidy received the thanks of
the victim whom she was about to sacrifice.

"One evening--I have just finished, my lord--the princess chose to sup
alone with her lady-in-waiting: the rarest fruits, the most exquisite
dishes, and the most delicate wines were served to my poor mother, whose
prolonged privations had injured her health and weakened her reason; she
gave way to a morbid gaiety. Diabolical philtres were poured into her
cup; that is another tradition in your family. My mother felt uplifted,
her eyes shone with feverish brilliance, her cheeks were on fire. Then
the prince came in--oh! your excellency will see that God protects the
poor. My darling mother, like a frightened dove, sheltered herself in
the bosom of the princess, who pushed her away, laughing. The poor
distraught girl, trembling, weeping, knelt down in the midst of that
infamous room. It was St. Anne's Day; all at once the house shook, the
walls cracked, cries of distress rang out in the streets. My mother was
saved. It was the earthquake that destroyed half Naples. You know all
about it, my lord, since your old palace is no longer habitable."

"What are you driving at?" cried Brancaleone in terrible agitation.

"Oh, I merely wish to persuade you that you must fight with me," answered
the fisherman coldly, as he offered him a cartridge. "And now," he
added, in an excited tone, "say your prayers, my lord; for I warn you,
you will die by my hand; justice must be done."