find me so docile, and then it will not be Robert of Cabane
or Charles of Durazzo that I shall strike, but him who is the cause of
all your misfortunes."

"Have mercy, Bertrand! do not you also speak these words; whenever this
horrible thought takes hold of me, let me come to you: this threat of
bloodshed that is drummed into my ears, this sinister vision that haunts
my sight; let me come to you, beloved, and weep upon your bosom, beneath
your breath cool my burning fancies, from your eyes draw some little
courage to revive my perishing soul. Come, I am quite unhappy enough
without needing to poison the future by an endless remorse. Tell me
rather to forgive and to forget, speak not of hatred and revenge; show me
one ray of hope amid the darkness that surrounds me; hold up my wavering
feet, and push me not into the abyss."

Such altercations as this were repeated as often as any fresh wrong arose
from the side of Andre or his party; and in proportion as the attacks
made by Bertrand and his friends gained in vehemence--and we must add, in
justice--so did Joan's objections weaken. The Hungarian rule, as it
became more and more arbitrary and unbearable, irritated men's minds to
such a point that the people murmured in secret and the nobles
proclaimed aloud their discontent. Andre's soldiers indulged in a
libertinage which would have been intolerable in a conquered city: they
were found everywhere brawling in the taverns or rolling about
disgustingly drunk in the gutters; and the prince, far from rebuking such
orgies, was accused of sharing them himself. His former tutor, who ought
to have felt bound to drag him away from so ignoble a mode of life,
rather strove to immerse him in degrading pleasures, so as to keep him
out of business matters; without suspecting it, he was hurrying on the
denouement of the terrible drama that was being acted behind the scenes
at Castel Nuovo. Robert's widow, Dona Sancha of Aragon, the good and
sainted lady whom our readers may possibly have forgotten, as her family
had done, seeing that God's anger was hanging over her house, and that no
counsels, no tears or prayers of hers could avail to arrest it, after
wearing mourning for her husband one whole year, according to her
promise, had taken the veil at the convent of Santa Maria delta Croce,
and deserted the court and its follies and passions, just as the prophets
of old, turning their back on some accursed city, would shake the dust
fro