“Listen, madam. The King of Hungary, the avenger of Andre’s murderers, the slayer of your husband, is at the gates of Naples; the people and soldiers will succumb, as soon as their last gallant effort is spent—the army of the conqueror is about to spread desolation and death throughout the city by fire and the sword. This time the Hungarian butcher will spare no victims: he will kill the mother before her children’s eyes, the children in their mother’s arms. The drawbridge of this castle is up and there are none on guard; every man who can wield a sword is now at the other end of the town. Woe to you, Marie of Durazzo, if the King of Hungary shall remember that you preferred his rival to him!” “But have you not come here to save me?” cried Marie in a voice of anguish. “Joan, my sister, did she not command you to take me to her?” “Your sister is no longer in the position to give orders,” replied Renaud, with a disdainful smile. “She had nothing for me but thanks because I saved her life, and her husband’s too, when he fled like a coward before the man whom he had dared to challenge to a duel.” Marie looked fixedly at the admiral to assure herself that it was really he who thus arrogantly talked about his masters. But she was terrified at his imperturbable expression, and said gently— “As I owe my life and my children’s lives solely to your generosity, I am grateful to you beyond all measure. But we must hurry, my lord: every moment I fancy I hear cries of vengeance, and you would not leave me now a prey to my brutal enemy?” “God forbid, madam; I will save you at the risk of my life; but I have said already, I impose a condition.” “What is it?” said Marie, with forced calm. “That you marry my son on the instant, in the presence of our reverend chaplain.” “Rash man!” cried Marie, recoiling, her face scarlet with indignation and shame; “you dare to speak thus to the sister of your legitimate sovereign? Give thanks to God that I will pardon an insult offered, as I know, in a moment of madness; try by your devotion to make me forget what you have said.” The count, without one word, signed to his son and a priest to follow, and prepared to depart. As he crossed the threshold Marie ran to him, and clasping her hands, prayed him in God’s name never to forsake her. Renaud stopped. “I might easily take my revenge,” he said, “for your affront when you refuse my son in your pride; but that business I leave to Louis of Hungary, who will acquit himself, no doubt, with credit.” “Have mercy on my poor daughters!” cried the princess; “mercy at least for my poor babes, if my own tears cannot move you.” “If you loved your children,” said the admiral, frowning, “you would have done your duty at once.”