The notary stopped on beholding a shadow alone, its head bowed, with arms
hanging loosely, choking back her sobs beneath a hood of black.

"Who is the woman who seems to drag herself so painfully along in their
train?" asked the duke, pressing his companion's arm.

"That woman," said the notary, "is the queen." "Ah, now I see," thought
Charles, breathing freely, with the same sort of satisfaction that Satan
no doubt feels when a long coveted soul falls at length into his power.

"And now, my lord," continued Master Nicholas, when all had returned once
more into silence and darkness, "if you have bidden me spy on these
conspirators with a view to saving the young prince you are protecting
with love and vigilance, you must hurry forward, for to-morrow maybe it
will be too late."

"Follow me," cried the duke imperiously; "it is time you should know my
real intention, and then carry out my orders with scrupulous exactness."

With these words he drew him aside to a place opposite to where the
conspirators had just disappeared. The notary mechanically followed
through a labyrinth of dark corridors and secret staircases, quite at a
loss how to account for the sudden change that had come over his
master--crossing one of the ante-chambers in the castle, they came upon
Andre, who joyfully accosted them; grasping the hand of his cousin Duras
in his affectionate manner, he asked him in a pressing way that would
brook no refusal, "Will you be of our hunting party to-morrow, duke?"

"Excuse me, my lord," said Charles, bowing down to the ground; "it will
be impossible for me to go to-morrow, for my wife is very unwell; but I
entreat you to accept the best falcon I have."

And here he cast upon the notary a petrifying glance.

The morning of the 20th of August was fine and calm--the irony of nature
contrasting cruelly with the fate of mankind. From break of day masters
and valets, pages and knights, princes and courtiers, all were on foot;
cries of joy were heard on every side when the queen arrived on a
snow-white horse, at the head of the young and brilliant throng. Joan
was perhaps paler than usual, but that might be because she had been
obliged to rise very early. Andre, mounted on one of the most fiery of
all the steeds he had tamed, galloped beside his wife, noble and proud,
happy in his own powers, his youth, and the thousand gilded hopes that a
brilliant future seemed to offer. Never had the court of Naples show