ed at Naples to prepare a
worthy reception for His Majesty. Louis thanked them for their kind
intentions, but begged them to invite the young princes now, saying that
it would be infinitely more pleasant to enter Naples with all his family,
and that he was most anxious to see his cousins. Charles and Robert, to
please the king, sent equerries to bid their brothers come to Aversa; but
Louis of Durazzo, the eldest of the boys, with many tears begged the
others not to obey, and sent a message that he was prevented by a violent
headache from leaving Naples. So puerile an excuse could not fail to
annoy Charles, and the same day he compelled the unfortunate boys to
appear before the king, sending a formal order which admitted of no
delay. Louis of Hungary embraced them warmly one after the other, asked
them several questions in an affectionate way, kept them to supper, and
only let them go quite late at night.

When the Duke of Durazzo reached his room, Lello of Aquila and the Count
of Fondi slipped mysteriously to the side of his bed, and making sure
that no one could hear, told him that the king in a council held that
morning had decided to kill him and to imprison the other princes.
Charles heard them out, but incredulously: suspecting treachery, he dryly
replied that he had too much confidence in his cousin's loyalty to
believe such a black calumny. Lello insisted, begging him in the name of
his dearest friends to listen; but the duke was impatient, and harshly
ordered him to depart.

The next day there was the same kindness on the king's part, the same
affection shown to the children, the same invitation to supper. The
banquet was magnificent; the room was brilliantly lighted, and the
reflections were dazzling: vessels of gold shone on the table; the
intoxicating perfume of flowers filled the air; wine foamed in the
goblets and flowed from the flagons in ruby streams; conversation,
excited and discursive, was heard on every side; all faces beamed with
joy.

Charles of Durazzo sat opposite the king, at a separate table among his
brothers. Little by little his look grew fixed, his brow pensive. He
was fancying that Andre might have supped in this very hall on the eve of
his tragic end, and he thought how all concerned in that death had either
died in torment or were now languishing in prison; the queen, an exile
and a fugitive, was begging pity from strangers: he alone was free. The
thought made him tremble; but