“It is not so sure that our love will last much longer.”
“What is this, Bertrand? You rejoice in this merciless torture.”
“I tell you, madam, that the King of Naples has a black flag ready, and on the day of his coronation it will be carried before him.”
“And you believe,” said Joan, pale as a corpse in its shroud, “—you believe that this flag is a threat?”
“Ay, and the threat begins to be put in execution.”
The queen staggered, and leaned against a table to save herself from falling.
“Tell me all,” she cried in a choking voice; “fear not to shock me; see, I am not trembling. O Bertrand, I entreat you!”
“The traitors have begun with the man you most esteemed, the wisest counsellor of the crown, the best of magistrates, the noblest-hearted, most rigidly virtuous——”
“Andrea of Isernia!”
“Madam, he is no more.”