members of the regency hastily assembled, while couriers were sent
out in every direction, charged to promise 12,000 ducats to whomsoever
should discover the place where the princess was concealed. Proceedings
were at once taken against the soldiers who were on guard at the
fortress at the time of the disappearance.

Bertrand of Artois drew the queen apart, telling her his suspicions,
which fell directly upon Charles of Durazzo; but Joan lost no time in
persuading him of the improbability of his hypothesis: first of all,
Charles had never once set his foot in Castel Nuovo since the day of his
stormy interview with the queen, but had made a point of always leaving
Andre by the bridge when he came to the town with him; besides, it had
never been noticed, even in the past, that the young duke had spoken to
Marie or exchanged looks with her: the result of all attainable evidence
was that no stranger had entered the castle the evening before except a
notary named Master Nicholas of Melazzo, an old person, half silly,
half fanatical, for whom Tommaso Pace, valet de chambre to the Duke of
Calabria, was ready to answer with his life. Bertrand yielded to the
queen's reasoning, and day by day advanced new suggestions, each less
probable than the last, to draw his mistress on to feel a hope that he
was far from feeling himself.

But a month later, and precisely on the morning of Monday the 30th
of April, a strange and unexpected scene took place, an exhibition
of boldness transcending all calculations. The Neapolitan people were
stupefied in astonishment, and the grief of Joan and her friends was
changed to indignation. Just as the clock of San Giovanni struck twelve,
the gate of the magnificent palace of the Durazzo flung open its folding
doors, and there came forth to the sound of trumpets a double file of
cavaliers on richly caparisoned horses, with the duke's arms on their