But Joan’s ability to receive consolation was quite as ready as her grief had at first been impetuous; the sobs which seemed to be breaking her heart ceased all at once; new thoughts, more gentle, less lugubrious, took possession of the young queen’s mind; the trace of tears vanished, and a smile lit up her liquid eyes like the sun’s ray following on rain.  This change, anxiously awaited, was soon observed by Joan’s chamberwoman:  she stole to the queen’s room, and falling on her knees, in accents of flattery and affection, she offered her first congratulations to her lovely mistress.  Joan opened her arms and held her in a long embrace, for Dona Cancha was far more to her than a lady-in-waiting; she was the companion of infancy, the depositary of all her secrets, the confidante of her most private thoughts.  One had but to glance at this young girl to understand the fascination she could scarcely fail to exercise over the queen’s mind.  She had a frank and smiling countenance, such as inspires confidence and captivates the mind at first sight.  Her face had an irresistible charm, with clear blue eyes, warm golden hair, mouth bewitchingly turned up at the corners, and delicate little chin.  Wild, happy, light of heart, pleasure and love were the breath of her being; her dainty refinement, her charming inconstancies, all made her at sixteen as lovely as an angel, though at heart she was corrupt.  The whole court was at her feet, and Joan felt more affection for her than for her own sister.

“Well, my dear Cancha,” she murmured, with a sigh, “you find me very sad and very unhappy!”

“And you find me, fair queen,” replied the confidante, fixing an admiring look on Joan,—­“you find me just the opposite, very happy that I can lay at your feet before anyone else the proof of the joy that the people of Naples are at this moment feeling.  Others perhaps may envy you the crown that shines upon your brow, the throne which is one of the noblest in the world, the shouts of this entire town that sound rather like worship than homage; but I, madam, I envy you your lovely black hair, your dazzling eyes, your more than mortal grace, which make every man adore you.”

“And yet you know, my Cancha, I am much to be pitied both as a queen and as a woman:  when one is fifteen a crown is heavy to wear, and I have not the liberty of the meanest of my subjects—­I mean in my affections; for before I reached an age when I could think I was sacrificed to a man whom I can never love.”

“Yet, madam,” replied Cancha in a more insinuating voice, “in this court there is a young cavalier who might by virtue of respect, love, and devotion have made you forget the claims of this foreigner, alike unworthy to be our king and to be your husband.”

The queen heaved a heavy sigh.