rief
had at first been impetuous; the sobs which seemed to be breaking her
heart ceased all at once; new thoughts, more gentle, less lugubrious,
took possession of the young queen's mind; the trace of tears vanished,
and a smile lit up her liquid eyes like the sun's ray following on rain.
This change, anxiously awaited, was soon observed by Joan's chamberwoman:
she stole to the queen's room, and falling on her knees, in accents of
flattery and affection, she offered her first congratulations to her
lovely mistress. Joan opened her arms and held her in a long embrace,
for Dona Cancha was far more to her than a lady-in-waiting; she was the
companion of infancy, the depositary of all her secrets, the confidante
of her most private thoughts. One had but to glance at this young girl
to understand the fascination she could scarcely fail to exercise over
the queen's mind. She had a frank and smiling countenance, such as
inspires confidence and captivates the mind at first sight. Her face had
an irresistible charm, with clear blue eyes, warm golden hair, mouth
bewitchingly turned up at the corners, and delicate little chin. Wild,
happy, light of heart, pleasure and love were the breath of her being;
her dainty refinement, her charming inconstancies, all made her at
sixteen as lovely as an angel, though at heart she was corrupt. The
whole court was at her feet, and Joan felt more affection for her than
for her own sister.

"Well, my dear Cancha," she murmured, with a sigh, "you find me very sad
and very unhappy!"

"And you find me, fair queen," replied the confidante, fixing an admiring
look on Joan,--"you find me just the opposite, very happy that I can lay
at your feet before anyone else the proof of the joy that the people of
Naples are at this moment feeling. Others perhaps may envy you the crown
that shines upon your brow, the throne which is one of the noblest in the
world, the shouts of this entire town that sound rather like worship than
homage; but I, madam, I envy you your lovely black hair, your dazzling
eyes, your more than mortal grace, which make every man adore you."

"And yet you know, my Cancha, I am much to be pitied both as a queen and
as a woman: when one is fifteen a crown is heavy to wear, and I have not
the liberty of the meanest of my subjects--I mean in my affections; for
before I reached an age when I could think I was sacrificed to a man whom
I can never love."

"Yet, madam," replied Cancha