fair ladies of Avignon were eager in their defence of the queen in spite of the calumnious reports that strove to tarnish her reputation:  with one voice the wisdom of Andre’s widow was extolled.  The concert of praises was disturbed, however, by murmurs from the recluses themselves, who, in their own brutal language, declared that Joan of Naples was impeding their commerce so as to get a monopoly for herself.

Meanwhile Marie of Durazzo had joined her sister.  After her husband’s death she had found means to take refuge in the convent of Santa Croce with her two little daughters; and while Louis of Hungary was busy burning his victims, the unhappy Marie had contrived to make her escape in the frock of an old monk, and as by a miracle to get on board a ship that was setting sail for Provence.  She related to her sister the frightful details of the king’s cruelty.  And soon a new proof of his implacable hatred confirmed the tales of the poor princess.

Louis’s ambassadors appeared at the court of Avignon to demand formally the queen’s condemnation.

It was a great day when Joan of Naples pleaded her own cause before the pope, in the presence of all the cardinals then at Avignon, all the ambassadors of foreign powers, and all the eminent persons come from every quarter of Europe to be present at this trial, unique in the annals of history.  We must imagine a vast enclosure, in whose midst upon a raised throne, as president of the august tribunal, sat God’s vicar on earth, absolute and supreme judge, emblem of temporal and spiritual power, of authority human and divine.  To right and left of the sovereign pontiff, the cardinals in their red robes sat in chairs set round in a circle, and behind these princes of the Sacred College stretched rows of bishops extending to the end of the hall, with vicars, canons, deacons, archdeacons, and the whole immense hierarchy of the Church.  Facing the pontifical throne was a platform reserved for the Queen of Naples and her suite.  At the pope’s feet stood the ambassadors from the King of Hungary, who played the part of accusers without speaking a word, the circumstances of the crime and all the proofs having been discussed beforehand by a committee appointed for the purpose.  The rest of the hall was filled by a brilliant crowd of high dignitaries, illustrious captains, and noble envoys, all vying with one another in proud display.  Everyone ceased to breathe, all eyes were fixed on the dais whence Joan was to speak her own defence.  A movement of uneasy curiosity made this compact mass of humanity surge towards the centre, the cardinals above raised like proud peacocks over a golden harvest-field shaken in the breeze.