mood. I know
what he intends."

"You ever had his confidence," said Bertrand, sneering.

"Until this hour I had. But there's an end to that. I am a Prince of
Naples, and I'll not bend the knee to a barbarian. He was well enough
to hunt with and drink with, so long as he was Duke of Calabria with no
prospect of being more. But that he should become my King, and that
our lady Giovanna should be no more than a queen consort--" He made a
gesture of ineffable disgust.

Bertrand's eyes kindled. He gripped the other's arm, and drew him along
under a trellis of vines that formed a green cloister about the walls.

"Why, here is great news for our Queen," he cried. "It will rejoice her,
my lord, to know you are loyal to her."

"That is no matter," he replied. "What matters is that you should be
warned--you, yourself in particular, and Evoli. No doubt there will be
others, too. But the Hungarian's confidences went no further."

Bertrand had come to a standstill. He stared at Charles, and slowly the
colour left his face.

"Me?" he said, a finger on his heart.

"Aye, you. You will be the next. But not until the crown is firmly on
his brow. Then he will settle his score with the nobles of Naples who
have withstood him. Listen," and Charles's voice sank as if under the
awful burden of his news; "a black banner of vengeance is to precede him
to his coronation. And your name stands at the head of the list of the
proscribed. Does it surprise you? After all, he is a husband, and he has
some knowledge of what lies between the Queen and you--"

"Stop!"

"Pish!" Charles shrugged. "What need for silence upon what all Naples
knows? When have you and the Queen ever used discretion? In your place
I should not need a warning. I should know what to expect from a husband
become king."

"The Queen must be told."

"Indeed, I think so, too. It will come best from you. Go tell her, so
that measures may be taken. But go secretly and warily. You are safe
until he wears the crown. And above all--whatever you may decide--do
nothing here in Naples."

And on that he turned to depart, whilst Bertrand sped to Giovanna. On
the threshold of the garden Charles paused and looked back. His eyes
sought and found the Queen, a tall, lissome girl of seventeen, in a
close-fitting, revealing gown of purple silk, the high, white gorget
outlining an oval face of a surpassing loveliness, crowned by a wealth
of copper-coloured hair. She was standing in a str