eternal. Adopting
for the love of God a voluntary poverty, and distributing her goods to
the poor, she took upon her the rule of obedience in this celebrated
convent of Santa Croce, the work of her own hands, in the year 1344, on
the gist of January of the twelfth indiction, where, living a life of
holiness under the rule of the blessed Francis, father of the poor, she
ended her days religiously in the year of our Lord 1345, on the 28th of
July of the thirteenth indiction. On the day following she was buried in
this tomb."

The death of Dona Sancha served to hasten on the catastrophe which was to
stain the throne of Naples with blood: one might almost fancy that God
wished to spare this angel of love and resignation the sight of so
terrible a spectacle, that she offered herself as a propitiatory
sacrifice to redeem the crimes of her family.

CHAPTER IV

Eight days after the funeral of the old queen, Bertrand of Artois came to
Joan, distraught, dishevelled, in a state of agitation and confusion
impossible to describe.

Joan went quickly up to her lover, asking him with a look of fear to
explain the cause of his distress.

"I told you, madam," cried the young baron excitedly, "you will end by
ruining us all, as you will never take any advice from me."

"For God's sake, Bertrand, speak plainly: what has happened? What advice
have I neglected?"

"Madam, your noble husband, Andre of Hungary, has just been made King of
Jerusalem and Sicily, and acknowledged by the court of Avignon, so
henceforth you will be no better than his slave."

"Count of Artois, you are dreaming."

"No, madam, I am not dreaming: I have this fact to prove the truth of my
words, that the pope's ambassadors are arrived at Capua with the bull for
his coronation, and if they do not enter Castel Nuovo this very evening,
the delay is only to give the new king time to make his preparations."

The queen bent her head as if a thunderbolt had fallen at her feet.

"When I told you before," said the count, with growing fury, "that we
ought to use force to make a stand against him, that we ought to break
the yoke of this infamous tyranny and get rid of the man before he had
the means of hurting you, you always drew back in childish fear, with a
woman's cowardly hesitation."

Joan turned a tearful look upon her lover.

"God, my God!" she cried, clasping her hands in desperation, "am I to
hear for ever this awful cry of death! You too, Bertr