“O my beloved son,” cried the queen in tears, “I never doubted your noble feelings or the justice of your claims; but when your life is in danger, to what voice can I listen but the voice of fear? what can move my counsels but the promptings of love?”

“Mother, believe me, if the hands and hearts alike of these cowards had not trembled, you would have lost your son long ago.”

“It is not violence that I fear, my son, it is treachery.”

“My life, like every man’s, belongs to God, and the lowest of sbirri may take it as I turn the corner of the street; but a king owes something to his people.”

The poor mother long tried to bend the resolution of Andre by reason and entreaties; but when she had spoken her last word and shed her last tear, she summoned Bertram de Baux, chief-justice of the kingdom, and Marie, Duchess of Durazzo.  Trusting in the old man’s wisdom and the girl’s innocence, she commended her son to them in the tenderest and most affecting words; then drawing from her own hand a ring richly wrought, and taking the prince aside, she slipped it upon his finger, saying in a voice that trembled with emotion as she pressed him to her heart—­

“My son, as you refuse to come with me, here is a wonderful talisman, which I would not use before the last extremity.  So long as you wear this ring on your finger, neither sword nor poison will have power against you.”

“You see then, mother,” said the prince, smiling, “with this protection there is no reason at all to fear for my life.”

“There are other dangers than sword or poison,” sighed the queen.

“Be calm, mother:  the best of all talismans is your prayer to God for me:  it is the tender thought of you that will keep me for ever in the path of duty and justice; your maternal love will watch over me from afar, and cover me like the wings of a guardian angel.”

Elizabeth sobbed as she embraced her son, and when she left him she felt her heart was breaking.  At last she made up her mind to go, and was escorted by the whole court, who had never changed towards her for a moment in their chivalrous and respectful devotion.  The poor mother, pale, trembling, and faint, leaned heavily upon Andre’s arm, lest she should fall.  On the ship that was to take her for ever from her son, she cast her arms for the last time about his neck, and there hung a long time, speechless, tearless, and motionless; when the signal for departure was given, her women took her in their arms half swooning.  Andre stood on the shore with the feeling of death at his heart:  his eyes were fixed upon the sail that carried ever farther from him the only being he loved in the world.  Suddenly he fancied he beheld something white moving a long way off:  his mother had recovered her senses by a great effort, and had dragged herself up to the bridge to give a last signal of farewell:  the unhappy lady knew too well that she would never see her son again.