When the Duke of Durazzo reached his room, Lello of Aquila and the Count of Fondi slipped mysteriously to the side of his bed, and making sure that no one could hear, told him that the king in a council held that morning had decided to kill him and to imprison the other princes.  Charles heard them out, but incredulously:  suspecting treachery, he dryly replied that he had too much confidence in his cousin’s loyalty to believe such a black calumny.  Lello insisted, begging him in the name of his dearest friends to listen; but the duke was impatient, and harshly ordered him to depart.

The next day there was the same kindness on the king’s part, the same affection shown to the children, the same invitation to supper.  The banquet was magnificent; the room was brilliantly lighted, and the reflections were dazzling:  vessels of gold shone on the table; the intoxicating perfume of flowers filled the air; wine foamed in the goblets and flowed from the flagons in ruby streams; conversation, excited and discursive, was heard on every side; all faces beamed with joy.

Charles of Durazzo sat opposite the king, at a separate table among his brothers.  Little by little his look grew fixed, his brow pensive.  He was fancying that Andre might have supped in this very hall on the eve of his tragic end, and he thought how all concerned in that death had either died in torment or were now languishing in prison; the queen, an exile and a fugitive, was begging pity from strangers:  he alone was free.  The thought made him tremble; but admiring his own cleverness in pursuing his infernal schemes, and putting away his sad looks, he smiled again with an expression of indefinable pride.  The madman at this moment was scoffing at the justice of God.  But Lello of Aquila, who was waiting at the table, bent down, whispering gloomily—­

“Unhappy duke, why did you refuse to believe me?  Fly, while there is yet time.”

Charles, angered by the man’s obstinacy, threatened that if he were such a fool as to say any more, he would repeat every word aloud.

“I have done my duty,” murmured Lello, bowing his head; “now it must happen as God wills.”

As he left off speaking, the king rose, and as the duke went up to take his leave, his face suddenly changed, and he cried in an awful voice—­

“Traitor!  At length you are in my hands, and you shall die as you deserve; but before you are handed over to the executioner, confess with your own lips your deeds of treachery towards our royal majesty:  so shall we need no other witness to condemn you to a punishment proportioned to your crimes.  Between our two selves, Duke of Durazzo, tell me first why, by your infamous manoeuvring, you aided your uncle, the Cardinal of Perigord, to hinder the coronation of my brother, and so led him on, since he had no royal prerogative of his own, to his miserable end?  Oh, make no attempt to deny it.  Here is the