ples, and to beg his active cooperation in the queen's
favour. As, however, she was not pressed for time, she could wait at
Saint Agatha for the count's recovery to hear his views and tell him of
the march of events since he left the court. She succeeded so well in
gaining the old man's confidence and banishing his suspicions, that he
begged her to honour them with her presence as long as she was able, and
little by little received all her men within the walls. This was what
Catherine was waiting for: on the very day when her army was installed at
Saint Agatha, she suddenly entered the count's room, followed by four
soldiers, and seizing the old man by the throat, exclaimed wrathfully--

"Miserable traitor, you will not escape from our hands before you have
received the punishment you deserve. In the meanwhile, show me where
your treasure is hidden, if you would not have me throw your body out to
feed the crows that are swooping around these dungeons."

The count, half choking, the dagger at his breast, did not even attempt
to call for help; he fell on his knees, begging the empress to save at
least the life of his son, who was not yet well from the terrible attack
of melancholia that had shaken his reason ever since the catastrophe.
Then he painfully dragged himself to the place where he had hidden his
treasure, and pointing with his finger, cried--

"Take all; take my life; but spare my son."

Catherine could not contain herself for joy when she saw spread out at
her feet exquisite and incredibly valuable cups, caskets of pearls,
diamonds and rubies of marvellous value, coffers full of gold ingots, and
all the wonders of Asia that surpass the wildest imagination. But when
the old man, trembling, begged for the liberty of his son as the price of
his fortune and his own life, the empress resumed her cold, pitiless
manner, and harshly replied--

"I have already given orders for your son to be brought here; but prepare
for an eternal farewell, for he is to be taken to the fortress of Melfi,
and you in all probability will end your days beneath the castle of Saint
Agatha."

The grief of the poor count at this violent separation was so great, that
a few days later he was found dead in his dungeon, his lips covered with
a bloody froth, his hands gnawed in despair. Bertrand did not long
survive him. He actually lost his reason when he heard of his father's
death, and hanged himself on the prison grating. Thus did