"Have mercy, Bertrand! do not you also speak these words; whenever this
horrible thought takes hold of me, let me come to you: this threat of
bloodshed that is drummed into my ears, this sinister vision that haunts
my sight; let me come to you, beloved, and weep upon your bosom, beneath
your breath cool my burning fancies, from your eyes draw some little
courage to revive my perishing soul. Come, I am quite unhappy enough
without needing to poison the future by an endless remorse. Tell me
rather to forgive and to forget, speak not of hatred and revenge; show
me one ray of hope amid the darkness that surrounds me; hold up my
wavering feet, and push me not into the abyss."

Such altercations as this were repeated as often as any fresh wrong
arose from the side of Andre or his party; and in proportion as the
attacks made by Bertrand and his friends gained in vehemence--and we
must add, in justice--so did Joan's objections weaken. The Hungarian
rule, as it became more and more arbitrary and unbearable, irritated
men's minds to such a point that the people murmured in secret and the
nobles proclaimed aloud their discontent. Andre's soldiers indulged in a
libertinage which would have been intolerable in a conquered city:
they were found everywhere brawling in the taverns or rolling about
disgustingly drunk in the gutters; and the prince, far from rebuking
such orgies, was accused of sharing them himself. His former tutor,
who ought to have felt bound to drag him away from so ignoble a mode of
life, rather strove to immerse him in degrading pleasures, so as to keep
him out of business matters; without suspecting it, he was hurrying on
the denouement of the terrible drama that was being acted behind the
scenes at Castel Nuovo. Robert's widow, Dona Sancha of Aragon, the good
and sainted lady whom our readers may possibly have forgotten, as her
family had done, seeing that God's anger was hanging over her house, and
that no counsels, no tears or prayers of hers could avail to arrest it,