But the nurse Isolda, terrified by the shouting of her beloved son and lord, leapt from her bed and went to the window, filling the house with dreadful cries.  The traitors, alarmed by the mighty uproar, although the place was lonely and so far from the centre of the town that nobody could have come to see what the noise was, were on the point of letting their victim go, when Bertrand of Artois, who felt he was more guilty than the others, seized the prince with hellish fury round the waist, and after a desperate struggle got him down; then dragging him by the hair of his head to a balcony which gave upon the garden, and pressing one knee upon his chest, cried out to the others—­

“Come here, barons:  I have what we want to strangle him with.”

And round his neck he passed a long cord of silk and gold, while the wretched man struggled all he could.  Bertrand quickly drew up the knot, and the others threw the body over the parapet of the balcony, leaving it hanging between earth and sky until death ensued.  When the Count of Terlizzi averted his eyes from the horrid spectacle, Robert of Cabane cried out imperiously—­

“What are you doing there?  The cord is long enough for us all to hold:  we want not witnesses, we want accomplices!”

As soon as the last convulsive movements of the dying man had ceased, they let the corpse drop the whole height of the three storeys, and opening the doors of the hall, departed as though nothing had happened.

Isolda, when at last she contrived to get a light, rapidly ran to the queen’s chamber, and finding the door shut on the inside, began to call loudly on her Andre.  There was no answer, though the queen was in the room.  The poor nurse, distracted, trembling, desperate, ran down all the corridors, knocked at all the cells and woke the monks one by one, begging them to help her look for the prince.  The monks said that they had indeed heard a noise, but thinking it was a quarrel between soldiers drunken perhaps or mutinous, they had not thought it their business to interfere.  Isolda eagerly, entreated:  the alarm spread through the convent; the monks followed the nurse, who went on before with a torch.  She entered the garden, saw something white upon the grass, advanced trembling, gave one piercing cry, and fell backward.

The wretched Andre was lying in his blood, a cord round his neck as though he were a thief, his head crushed in by the height from which he fell.  Then two monks went upstairs to the queen’s room, and respectfully knocking at the door, asked in sepulchral tones—­

“Madam, what would you have us do with your husband’s corpse?”