without, he was at once seized by some person or persons whose identity
has never been made clear, who stopped his mouth with their gloves and
then strangled him and suspended his body from a balcony. The cord,
however, was not strong enough to stand the strain, and broke, and the
body fell into the garden below. There the assassins would have buried
it upon the spot, if they had not been put to flight by a servant of the
palace, who gave the alarm.

This deed of violence gave rise to much suspicion, and the assertion is
often made that Joanna had at least connived at her husband's unhappy
end. Indeed, there is a story--which is without foundation, however--to
the effect that Andreas found her one day twisting a silken rope with
which it was her intention to have him strangled; and when he asked her
what she was doing, she replied, with a smile: "Twisting a rope with
which to hang you!" But it is difficult to believe the truth of any of
these imputations. If she were cruel enough to desire her husband's
death, and bold enough to plan for it, she was also intelligent enough
to execute her purpose in a manner less foolish and less perilous to
herself. Never, up to this time, had she given the slightest indication
of such cruelty in her character, and never after that time was the
slightest suspicion cast upon her for any other evil act. How, then,
could it be possible that Andreas had been murdered by her order?
Whatever the cause of this ferocious outbreak, the Hungarian faction,
struck with consternation, fled in all directions, not knowing what to
expect. The next morning Joanna returned to the castle Nuovo, where she
remained until after the birth of her son. During this period of
confinement, she wrote a letter to the King of Hungary, her
father-in-law, telling him what had taken place. In this epistle she
makes use of the expression: