ou will love.
I appeal to your loyalty as a young man, to your courtesy as a knight, to
all your noblest impulses; join me, and turn your father away from his
fatal project. You have never seen me before: you do not know but that
in my secret heart I love another. Your pride should be revolted at the
sight of an unhappy woman casting herself at your feet and imploring your
favour and protection. One word from you, Robert, and I shall bless you
every moment of my life: the memory of you will be graven in my heart
like the memory of a guardian angel, and my children shall name you
nightly in their prayers, asking God to grant your wishes. Oh, say, will
you not save me? Who knows, later on I may love you--with real love."

"I must obey my father," Robert replied, never lifting his eyes to the
lovely suppliant.

The priest was silent. Two minutes passed, and these four persons, each
absorbed in his own thoughts, stood motionless as statues carved at the
four corners of a tomb. Marie was thrice tempted to throw herself into
the sea. But a confused distant sound suddenly struck upon her ears:
little by little it drew nearer, voices were more distinctly heard; women
in the street were uttering cries of distress--

"Fly, fly! God has forsaken us; the Hungarians are in the town!"

The tears of Marie's children were the answer to these cries; and little
Margaret, raising her hands to her mother, expressed her fear in speech
that was far beyond her years. Renaud, without one look at this touching
picture, drew his son towards the door.

"Stay," said the princess, extending her hand with a solemn gesture: "as
God sends no other aid to my children, it is His will that the sacrifice
be accomplished."

She fell on her knees before the priest, bending her head like a victim
who offers her neck to the executioner. Robert des Baux took his place
beside her, and the priest pronounced the formula that united them for
ever, consecrating the infamous deed by a sacrilegious blessing.

"All is over!" murmured Marie of Durazzo, looking tearfully on her little
daughters.

"No, all is not yet over," said the admiral harshly, pushing her towards
another room; "before we leave, the marriage must be consummated."

"O just God!" cried the princess, in a voice torn with anguish, and she
fell swooning to the floor.

Renaud des Baux directed his ships towards Marseilles, where he hoped to
get his son crowned Count of Provence, than