out into bitter reproach and violent recrimination, and, letting
fall the mask, once for all lost his place in Joan's heart.

His mother at last saw that it was time to interfere: she rebuked her
son, accusing him of upsetting all her plans by his clumsiness.

"As you have failed to conquer her by love," she said, "you must now
subdue her by fear. The secret of her honour is in our hands, and she
will never dare to rebel. She plainly loves Bertrand of Artois, whose
languishing eyes and humble sighs contrast in a striking manner with your
haughty indifference and your masterful ways. The mother of the Princes
of Tarentum, the Empress of Constantinople, will easily seize an occasion
of helping on the princess's love so as to alienate her more and more
from her husband: Cancha will be the go between, and sooner or later we
shall find Bertrand at Joan's feet. Then she will be able to refuse us
nothing."

While all this was going on, the old king died, and the Catanese, who had
unceasingly kept on the watch for the moment she had so plainly foreseen,
loudly called to her son, when she saw Bertrand slip into Joan's
apartment, saying as she drew him after her--

"Follow me, the queen is ours."

It was thus that she and her son came to be there. Joan, standing in the
middle of the chamber, pallid, her eyes fixed on the curtains of the bed,
concealed her agitation with a smile, and took one step forward towards
her governess, stooping to receive the kiss which the latter bestowed
upon her every morning. The Catanese embraced her with affected
cordiality, and turning, to her son, who had knelt upon one knee, said,
pointing to Robert--

"My fair queen, allow the humblest of your subjects to offer his sincere
congratulations and to lay his homage at your feet."

"Rise, Robert," said Joan, extending her hand kindly, and with no show of
bitterness. "We were brought up together, and I shall never forget that
in our childhood--I mean those happy days when we were both innocent--I
called you my brother."

"As you allow me, madam," said Robert, with an ironical smile, "I too
shall always remember the names you formerly gave me."

"And I," said the Catanese, "shall forget that I speak to the Queen of
Naples, in embracing once more my beloved daughter. Come, madam, away
with care: you have wept long enough; we have long respected your grief.
It is now time to show yourself to these good Neapolitans who bless
Heaven contin