After two dreadful hours of suspense, every second marked out by the beating of his heart, Charles fancied he heard the sound of a door very carefully opened; the feeble ray of a lantern in the vault scarcely served to dispel the darkness, but a man coming away from the wall approached him walking like a living statue.

Charles gave a slight cough, the sign agreed upon.

The man put out his light and hid away the dagger he had drawn in case of a surprise.
"Is it you, Master Nicholas ?" asked the duke in a low voice.
"It is I, my lord." "What is it ?" "They have just fixed the prince's death for tomorrow, on his way to the hunt." "Did you recognise every conspirator ?" "Every one, though their faces were masked; when they gave their vote for death, I knew them by their voices." "Could you point out to me who they are ?" "Yes, this very minute; they are going to pass along at the end of this corridor.

And see, here is Tommaso Pace walking in front of them to light their way." Indeed, a tall spectral figure, black from head to foot, his face carefully hidden under a velvet mask, walked at the end of the corridor, lamp in hand, and stopped at the first step of a staircase which led to the upper floors.

The conspirators advanced slowly, two by two, like a procession of ghosts, appeared for one moment in the circle of light made by the torch, and again disappeared into shadow.
"See, there are Charles and Bertrand of Artois," said the notary; "there are the Counts of Terlizzi and Catanzaro; the grand admiral and grand seneschal, Godfrey of Marsan, Count of Squillace, and Robert of Cabane, Count of Eboli; the two women talking in a low voice with the eager gesticulations are Catherine of Tarentum, Empress of Constantinople, and Philippa the Catanese, the queen's governess and chief lady; there is Dona Cancha, chamberwoman and confidante of Joan; and there is the Countess of Morcone." The notary stopped on beholding a shadow alone, its head bowed, with arms hanging loosely, choking back her sobs beneath a hood of black.
"Who is the woman who seems to drag herself so painfully along in their train ?" asked the duke, pressing his companion's arm.
"That woman," said the notary, "is the queen." "Ah, now I see," thought Charles, breathing freely, with the same sort of satisfaction that Satan no doubt feels when a long coveted soul falls at length into his power.
"And now, my lord," continued Master Nicholas, when all had returned once more into silence and darkness, "if you have bidden me spy on these conspirators with a view to saving the young prince you are protecting with love and vigilance, you must hurry forward, for to-morrow maybe it will be too late." "Follow me," cried the duke imperiously; "it is time you should know my real intention, and then carry out my orders with scrupulous exactness." With these words he drew him aside to a place opposite to where the conspirators had just disappeared.