"Mine," said the count calmly.

"Yours!" cried Joan, drawing herself up to her full height; "are you
to be killed next! Oh, be careful, Andre; you have pronounced your own
death-sentence. Long have I turned aside the dagger pointing to your
breast, but you put an end to all my patience. Woe to you, Prince of
Hungary! the blood which you have spilt shall fall on your own head."

As she spoke she had lost her pallor; her lovely face was fired with
revenge, her eyes flashed lightning. This child of sixteen was terrible
to behold; she pressed her lover's hand with convulsive tenderness, and
clung to him as if she would screen him with her own body.

"Your anger is awakened too late," said he gently and sadly; for at this
moment Joan seemed so lovely that he could reproach her with nothing.
"You do not know that his mother has left him a talisman preserving him
from sword and poison?"

"He will die," said Joan firmly; the smile that lighted up her face was
so unnatural that the count was dismayed, and dropped his eyes.

The next day the young Queen of Naples, lovelier, more smiling than
ever, sitting carelessly in a graceful attitude beside a window which
looked out on the magnificent view of the bay, was busy weaving a cord
of silk and gold. The sun had run nearly two-thirds of his fiery course,
and was gradually sinking his rays in the clear blue waters where
Posilippo's head is reflected with its green and flowery crown. A warm,
balmy breeze that had passed over the orange trees of Sorrento and
Amalfi felt deliciously refreshing to the inhabitants of the capital,