e 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 pity my poor sister; I
pity her for becoming so young the prey of a wretched man who sacrifices
her to his own ambition, hoping by this marriage to establish a claim to
the throne. O God! what a strange fate oppresses the royal house of
Anjou! My father's early death in the midst of his triumphs; my mother's
so quickly after; my sister and I, the sole offspring of Charles I, both
before we are women grown fallen into the hands of cowardly men, who use
us but as the stepping-stones of their ambition!" Joan fell back
exhausted on her chair, a burning tear trembling on her eyelid.

"This is the second time," said Bertrand reproachfully, "that I have
drawn my sword to avenge an insult offered to you, the second time I
return it by your orders to the scabbard. But remember, Joan, the third
time will not