“But why is Andre blamed?  What has he done?”

“What has he done?  Why is he blamed, madam?  The people blame him as stupid, coarse, a savage; the nobles blame him for ignoring their privileges and openly supporting men of obscure birth; and I, madam,”—­here he lowered his voice, “I blame him for making you unhappy.”

Joan shuddered as though a wound had been touched by an unkind hand; but hiding her emotion beneath an appearance of calm, she replied in a voice of perfect indifference—­

“You must be dreaming, Charles; who has given you leave to suppose I am unhappy?”

“Do not try to excuse him, my dear cousin,” replied Charles eagerly; “you will injure yourself without saving him.”

The queen looked fixedly at her cousin, as though she would read him through and through and find out the meaning of his words; but as she could not give credence to the horrible thought that crossed her mind, she assumed a complete confidence in her cousin’s friendship, with a view to discovering his plans, and said carelessly—­

“Well, Charles, suppose I am not happy, what remedy could you offer me that I might escape my lot?”

“You ask me that, my dear cousin?  Are not all remedies good when you suffer, and when you wish for revenge?”

“One must fly to those means that are possible.  Andre will not readily give up his pretensions:  he has a party of his own, and in case of open rupture his brother the King of Hungary may declare war upon us, and bring ruin and desolation upon our kingdom.”

The Duke of Duras faintly smiled, and his countenance assumed a sinister expression.

“You do not understand me,” he said.

“Then explain without circumlocution,” said the queen, trying to conceal the convulsive shudder that ran through her limbs.

“Listen, Joan,” said Charles, taking his cousin’s hand and laying it upon his heart:  “can you feel that dagger?”

“I can,” said Joan, and she turned pale.

“One word from you—­and—­”

“Yes?”

“To-morrow you will be free.”

“A murder!” cried Joan, recoiling in horror:  “then I was not deceived; it is a murder that you have proposed.”

“It is a necessity,” said the duke calmly:  “today I advise; later on you will give your orders.”

“Enough, wretch!  I cannot tell if you are more cowardly or more rash:  cowardly, because you reveal a criminal plot feeling sure that I shall never denounce you; rash, because in revealing it to me you cannot tell what witnesses are near to hear it all.”

“In any case, madam, since I have put myself in your hands, you must perceive that I cannot leave you till I know if I must look upon myself as your friend or as your enemy.”

“Leave me,” cried Joan, with a disdainful gesture; “you insult your queen.”

“You forget, my dear cousin, that some day I may very likely have a claim to your kingdom.”