“That has nothing to do with me, madam; the barons of this kingdom would revolt to a man if I were on my own authority to exalt to one of the first dignities the son of a—-” “A laundress and a negro; you would say, madam?” said Robert, with a sneer. “Bertrand of Artois would be annoyed perhaps if I had a title like his.” He advanced a step towards the bed, his hand upon the hilt of his sword. “Have mercy, Robert!” cried the queen, checking him: “I will do all you ask.” And she signed the parchment naming him Count of Eboli. “And now,” Robert went on impudently, “to show that my new title is not illusory, while you are busy about signing documents, let me have the privilege of taking part in the councils of the crown: make a declaration that, subject to your good pleasure, my mother and I are to have a deliberative voice in the council whenever an important matter is under discussion.” “Never!” cried Joan, turning pale. “Philippa and Robert, you abuse my weakness and treat your queen shamefully. In the last few days I have wept and suffered continually, overcome by a terrible grief; I have no strength to turn to business now. Leave me, I beg: I feel my strength gives way.” “What, my daughter,” cried the Catanese hypocritically, “are you feeling unwell? Come and lie down at once.” And hurrying to the bed, she took hold of the curtain that concealed the Count of Artois. The queen uttered a piercing cry, and threw herself before Philippa with the fury of a lioness. “Stop!” she cried in a choking voice; “take the privilege you ask, and now, if you value your own life, leave me.” The Catanese and her son departed instantly, not even waiting to reply, for they had got all they wanted; while Joan, trembling, ran desperately up to Bertrand, who had angrily drawn his dagger, and would have fallen upon the two favourites to take vengeance for the insults they had offered to the queen; but he was very soon disarmed by the lovely shining eyes raised to him in supplication, the two arms cast about him, and the tears shed by Joan: he fell at her feet and kissed them rapturously, with no thought of seeking excuse for his presence, with no word of love, for it was as if they had loved always: he lavished the tenderest caresses on her, dried her tears, and pressed his trembling lips upon her lovely head. Joan began to forget her anger, her vows, and her repentance: soothed by the music of her lover’s speech, she returned uncomprehending monosyllables: her heart beat till it felt like breaking, and once more she was falling beneath love’s resistless spell, when a new interruption occurred, shaking her roughly out of her ecstasy; but this time the young count was able to pass quietly and calmly into a room adjoining, and Joan prepared to receive her importunate visitor with severe and frigid dignity.