The next morning Duke Charles went down to the great hall of the castle to hear reports from his officers relating to the war that he was about to wage against the Swiss. When the duke ascended the three steps of the dais to the ducal throne, he spoke to Campo-Basso who stood upon the first step at the duke's right.
"What news, my Lord Count?" asked Charles. "I'm told there is a messenger from Ghent."
"Ill news, my lord," answered Campo-Basso.
"Out with it!" cried the duke. "One should always swallow a bitter draught quickly."
"We hear the Swiss are gathering their cantons in great numbers," said Campo-Basso.
"Let the sheep gather," said Charles, waving his hands. "The more they gather to the fold, the more we'll shear." He laughed as if pleased with the prospect, and continued, "Proceed, my Lord Count."
"The Duke of Lorraine is again trying to muster his subjects against Your Grace, and sends a polite message asking and offering terms of agreement. Shall I read the missive, my lord?"
"No!" cried the duke, "Curse his soft words. There is no bad news yet. Proceed."
"It is rumored, Your Grace," continued the count, "that Frederick, Duke of Styria, is preparing to aid the Swiss against Your Grace."
"With his advice?" asked the duke. "The old pauper has nothing else to give, unless it be the bones of his ancestors."
"It is said, Your Highness, that Würtemberg will also aid the Swiss, and that Duke Albert will try to bring about a coalition of the German states for the purpose of assisting the Swiss, aiding Lorraine, and overthrowing Burgundy. This purpose, our informant tells us, has been fostered by this same Duke Frederick of Styria."
"This news, I suppose, is intended for our ears by the Duke of Styria. He probably wishes us to know that he is against us," said Charles. "He wanted our daughter for his clown of a son, and our contempt for his claims rankles in his heart. He cannot inflame Würtemberg, and Würtemberg cannot influence the other German princes."
The duke paused, and Campo-Basso proceeded:--
"The citizens of Ghent, my lord, petition Your Grace for the restoration of certain communal rights, and beg for the abolition of the hearth tax and the salt levy. They also desire the right to elect their own burgomaster and--"
"Give me the petition," demanded the duke. Campo-Basso handed the parchment to Charles, and he tore it to shreds.
"Send these to the dogs of Ghent, and tell them that for every scrap of parchment I'll take a score of heads when I return from Switzerland."
"We hear also, my lord," said the Italian, "that King Edward of England is marshalling an army, presumably for the invasion of France and, because of the close union that is soon to be between King Louis and Burgundy, I have thought proper to lay the news before Your Grace."
"Edward wants more of King Louis' gold," answered Charles. "We'll let him get it. We care not how much he has from this crafty miser of the Seine. Louis will buy the English ministers, and the army will suddenly vanish. When King Edward grows scarce of gold, he musters an army, or pretends to do so, and Louis fills the English coffers. The French king would buy an apostle, or the devil, and would sell his soul to either to serve a purpose. Have you more in your budget, Sir Count?"
"I have delivered all, I believe, my lord," answered Campo-Basso.
"It might have been worse," said the duke, rising to quit his throne.
"One moment, my lord! There is another matter to which I wish to call Your Grace's attention before you rise," said the count. "I have for your signature the warrants for the execution of the Swiss spies, who, Your Highness may remember, were entrapped and arrested by the watchfulness of Your Grace's faithful servant, the noble Count Calli."
"Give me the warrant," said the duke, "and let the execution take place at once."
Hymbercourt had been standing in the back part of the room, paying little attention to the proceedings, but the mention of Calli's name in connection with the Swiss spies quickly roused him, and he hurriedly elbowed his way to the ducal throne. A page was handing Charles a quill and an ink-well when Hymbercourt spoke:--
"My Lord Duke, I beg you not to sign the warrant until I have asked a few questions of my Lord Campo-Basso concerning these alleged spies."
"Why do you say 'alleged spies,' my Lord d'Hymbercourt?" asked the duke. "Do you know anything of them? Are they friends of yours?"
"If they are friends of mine, Your Grace may be sure they are not spies," answered Hymbercourt. "I am not sure that I know these men, but I fear a mistake has been made."
A soft cry, a mere exclamation, was heard behind the chancel in the ladies' gallery, which was above the throne, a little to the right. But it caused no comment other than a momentary turning of heads in that direction.
"On what ground do you base your suspicion, my lord?" asked Charles.
"Little ground, Your Grace," answered Hymbercourt. "I may be entirely wrong; but I beg the privilege of asking the noble Count Calli two or three questions before Your Grace signs the death warrant. We may avert a grave mistake and prevent a horrible crime."
"It is a waste of valuable time," answered Charles, "but if you will be brief, you may proceed. Count Calli, come into presence."
Calli stepped forward and saluted the duke on bended knee.
"Your questions, Hymbercourt, and quickly," said Charles, testily. "We are in haste. Time between the arrest and the hanging of a spy is wasted."
"I thank you, my lord," said Hymbercourt. He then turned to Calli, and asked, "When were these men arrested?"
"More than a fortnight ago," answered Calli.
"How came you to discover they were spies?" asked Hymbercourt.
"I watched them, and their actions were suspicious," replied the Italian.
"In what respect were they suspicious?"
"They went abroad only at night, and one of them was seen near the castle several evenings after dark," responded Calli.
"Is that your only evidence against them?" demanded Hymbercourt.
"It is surely enough," replied Calli, "but if more is wanted, they were overheard to avow their guilt."
"What were they heard to say and where did they say it?" asked Hymbercourt.
"I lay concealed, with six men-at-arms, near the river in the garden of The Mitre Inn, where the spies had been bathing. We heard them speak many words of treason against our gracious Lord Duke, but I did not move in their arrest until the younger man said to his companion: 'I will to-morrow gain entrance to the castle as a pedler and will stab this Duke Charles to death. You remain near the Postern with the horses, and I will try to escape to you. If the gate should be closed, ride away without me and carry the news to the cantons. I would gladly give my life to save the fatherland.'"
"Hang them," cried the duke. "We are wasting time."
"I pray your patience, my Lord Duke," said Hymbercourt, holding up his hand protestingly. "I know these men whom Count Calli has falsely accused. They are not spies; they are not Swiss; neither are they enemies of Burgundy. Were they so, I, my lord, would demand their death were they a thousand-fold my friends. I stake my life upon their honesty. I offer my person and my estates as hostages for them, and make myself their champion. Count Calli lies."
Hymbercourt's words caused a great commotion in the hall. Swords and daggers sprang from the scabbards of the Italians, and cries of indignation were uttered by the mercenaries, who saw their crime exposed, and by the Burgundians, who hated the Italians and their dastardly methods. Charles commanded silence, and Campo-Basso received permission to speak.
"Since when did my Lord d'Hymbercourt turn traitor?" said he. "His fealty has always been as loud-mouthed as the baying of a wolf."
"I am a Burgundian, my lord," said Hymbercourt, ignoring the Italian and addressing Charles. "I receive no pay for my fealty. I am not a foreign mercenary, and I need not defend my loyalty to one who knows me as he knows his own heart."
"My Lord d'Hymbercourt's honor needs no defence," said Charles. "I trust his honesty and loyalty as I trust myself. He may be mistaken; he may be right. Bring in these spies."
"Surely Your Grace will not contaminate your presence with these wretches," pleaded Campo-Basso. "Consider the danger to yourself, my dear lord. They are desperate men, who would gladly give their lives to take yours and save their country. I beg you out of the love I bear Your Grace, pause before you bring these traitorous spies into your sacred presence."
"Bring them before me!" cried the duke. "We will determine this matter for ourselves. We have a score of brave, well-paid Italians who may be able to protect our person from the onslaught of two manacled men."
On this same morning the guard had been to my cell with bread and water, and had departed. I did not know, of course, whether it was morning, noon, or night, but I had learned to measure with some degree of accuracy the lapse of time between the visits of the guard, and was surprised to hear the rusty lock turn long before the time for his reappearance. When the man entered my cell, bearing his lantern, he said:--
"Come with me."
The words were both welcome and terrible. I could not know their meaning--whether it was liberty or death. I stepped from the cell and, while I waited for the guard to relock the door, I saw the light of a lantern at the other end of a passageway. Two men with Max between them came out of the darkness and stopped in front of me. Our wrists were manacled behind us, and we could not touch hands. I could have wept for joy and grief at seeing Max.
"Forgive me, Max, for bringing you to this," I cried.
"Forgive me, Karl. It is I who have brought you to these straits," said Max. "Which is it to be, think you, Karl, liberty or death?"
"God only knows," I answered.
"For your sake, Karl, I hope He cares more than I. I would prefer death to the black cell I have just left."
We went through many dark passageways and winding stairs to the audience hall.
When we entered the hall, the courtiers fell back, leaving an aisle from the great double doors to the ducal throne. When we approached the duke, I bent my knee, but Max simply bowed.
"Kneel!" cried Campo-Basso, addressing Max.
"If my Lord of Burgundy demands that I kneel, I will do so, but it is more meet that he should kneel to me for the outrage that has been put upon me at his court," said Max, gazing unfalteringly into the duke's face.
"Who are you?" demanded the duke, speaking to me.
"I am Sir Karl de Pitti," I replied. "Your Grace may know my family; we are of Italy. It was once my good fortune to serve under your father and yourself. My young friend is known as Sir Maximilian du Guelph."
"He is known as Guelph, but who is he?" demanded Charles.
"That question I may not answer, my lord," said I, speaking in the Walloon tongue.
"You shall answer or die," returned the duke, angrily.
"I hope my Lord of Burgundy will not be so harsh with us," interrupted Max, lifting his head and speaking boldly. "We have committed no crime, and do not know why we have been arrested. We beg that we may be told the charge against us, and we would also know who makes the charge."
"Count Calli," said the duke, beckoning that worthy knight, "come forward and speak."
Calli came forward, knelt to the duke, and said:
"I, my lord, charge these unknown men as being Swiss spies and assassins, who seek to murder Your Grace and to betray Burgundy."
"You lie, you dog," cried Max, looking like an angry young god. "You lie in your teeth and in your heart. My Lord of Burgundy, I demand the combat against this man who seeks my life by treachery and falsehood. I waive my rank for the sweet privilege of killing this liar."
"My Lord Duke," I exclaimed, interrupting Max, "if my Lord d'Hymbercourt is in presence, I beg that I may have speech with him."
Hymbercourt stepped to my side, and the duke signified permission to speak.
"My Lord d'Hymbercourt," said I, turning to my friend, "I beg you to tell His Grace that we are not spies. I may not, for reasons well known to you, give you permission to inform His Grace who my young companion is, and I hope my Lord of Burgundy will be satisfied with your assurance that we are honest knights who wish only good to this land and its puissant ruler."
"Indeed, my Lord Duke, I was right," answered Hymbercourt. "Again I offer my person and my estates as hostages for these men. They are not spies. They are not of Switzerland, nor are they friends to the Swiss; neither are they enemies of Burgundy. I doubt not they will gladly join Your Lordship in this war against the cantons. These knights have been arrested to gratify revenge for personal injury received and deserved by this traitorous Count Calli."
"It is false," cried Campo-Basso.
"It is true--pitifully true, my lord," returned Hymbercourt. "This young knight was at the moat bridge near Castleman's House under the Wall talking with a burgher maid, Fräulein Castleman. Count Calli stole upon them without warning and insulted the maiden. My young friend knocked down the ruffian, and, in the conflict that ensued, broke Calli's arm. Your Grace may have seen him carrying it in a sling until within the last forty-eight hours.
"For this deserved chastisement Count Calli seeks the young man's life by bearing false witness against him; and with it that of my old friend, Sir Karl de Pitti. It is Burgundy's shame, my lord, that these treacherous mercenaries should be allowed to murder strangers and to outrage Your Grace's loyal subjects in the name of Your Lordship's justice. Sir Maximilian du Guelph has demanded the combat against this Count Calli. Sir Maximilian is a spurred and belted knight, and under the laws of chivalry even Your Grace may not gainsay him."
"My lord, I do not fight assassins and spies," said Calli, addressing the duke.
"I do," cried Max, "when they put injuries upon me as this false coward has done. I will prove upon his body, my Lord Duke, who is the assassin and the spy. My Lord d'Hymbercourt will vouch that my rank entitles me to fight in knightly combat with any man in this presence. My wrists are manacled, my lord, and I have no gage to throw before this false knight; but, my Lord of Burgundy, I again demand the combat. One brave as Your Grace is must also be just. We shall leave Count Calli no excuse to avoid this combat, even if I must tell Your Grace my true rank and station."
"This knight," said Hymbercourt, addressing Charles and extending his hand toward Max, "is of birth entitling him to meet in the lists any knight in Burgundy, and I will gladly stand his sponsor."
"My Lord d'Hymbercourt's sponsorship proves any man," said the duke, who well knew that Campo-Basso and his friends would commit any crime to avenge an injury, fancied or real.
"My Lord Duke, I pray your patience," said Campo-Basso, obsequiously. "No man may impugn my Lord d'Hymbercourt's honesty, but may he not be mistaken? In the face of the evidence against this man, may he not be mistaken? The six men who were with Count Calli will testify to the treasonable words spoken by this young spy."
"Does any other man in presence know these men?" asked the duke. No one responded.
After a little time Hymbercourt broke silence.
"I am grieved and deeply hurt, my lord, that you should want other evidence than mine against the witnesses who make this charge. I am a Burgundian. These witnesses are Italians who love Your Grace for the sake of the gold they get. I had hoped that my poor services had earned for me the right to be believed, but if I may have a little time, I will procure another man whose word shall be to you as the word of your father."
"Bring him into our presence," answered the duke. "We will see him to-morrow at this hour."
"May I not crave Your Grace's indulgence for a half-hour?" pleaded Hymbercourt. "I will have this man here within that time."
"Not another minute," replied the duke. "Heralds, cry the rising."
"Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! His Grace, the Duke of Burgundy, is about to rise. His Grace has risen," cried the herald.
The duke left the hall by a small door near the dais.
Hymbercourt was standing beside us when the captain of the guard approached to lead us back to our cells.
"May we not have comfortable quarters, and may we not be placed in one cell?" I asked, appealing to Hymbercourt. "I have been confined in a reeking, rayless dungeon unfit for swine, and doubtless Sir Max has been similarly outraged."
Hymbercourt put his hand into his pouch and drew forth two gold pieces. These he stealthily placed in the captain's hand, and that worthy official said:--
"I shall be glad to oblige, my lord."
Hymbercourt left us, and Campo-Basso, beckoning the captain to one side, spoke to him in low tones. The captain, I was glad to see, was a Burgundian.
After we left the hall we were taken to our old quarters. The captain followed me into the cell, leaving his men in the passageway.
"My Lord Count ordered me to bring you here," he said; "but I will, if I can, soon return with other men who are not Italians and will remove you to a place of safety."
"Am I not safe here? Is my friend in danger?" I asked.
The man smiled as though amused at my simplicity:--
"If you remain here to-night, there will be no need to hang you in the morning. Our Italian friends have methods of their own that are simple and sure. But I will try to find a way to remove you before--before the Italians have time to do their work. I will see my Lord d'Hymbercourt, and if the duke has not gone a-hunting, we will induce His Grace to order your removal to a place of safety."
"But if the duke is gone, cannot you get the order when he returns?" I asked.
"That will be too late, I fear," he answered, laughing, and with these comforting remarks he left me.
After two or three hours--the time seemed days--I heard a key enter the lock of my cell door. If the hand inserting the key was that of an Italian, I might look for death. To my great joy the man was my Burgundian captain.
"The duke had gone a-hunting," he said, "and I could not find my Lord d'Hymbercourt; but Her Highness, the princess, asked me to remove you, and I am willing to risk my neck for her sweet sake. I am to place you in one of the tower rooms, out of the reach of our Italian cut-throats."
"Will my young friend be with me?" I asked eagerly.
"Yes," responded the captain.
Again I met Max with a man-at-arms in the passageway outside my cell door, and we all went up the steps together. We were hurried through dark passages to a spiral stairway, which we climbed till my knees ached. But we were going up instead of down, and I was overjoyed to have the aching leave my heart for my knees.
The room in which the Burgundian left us was large and clean. There were two beds of sweet straw upon the floor, and to my unspeakable joy there was a bar on the door whereby it could be locked from within. There were also two tubs of water for a bath. On a rude bench was a complete change of clothing which had been brought by some kind hand from the inn. On an oak table were two bottles of wine, a bowl of honey, a cellar of pepper, white bread, cold meat, and pastry. A soul reaching heaven out of purgatory must feel as we felt then. We were too excited to eat, so we bathed, dressed, and lay down on the straw beds.
Before leaving us our captain had said:--
"Do not unbolt your door except to the password 'Burgundy.'"
We slept till late in the afternoon. When we wakened the sun was well down in the west, and we could see only its reflected glare in the eastern sky. There was but one opening in the room through which the light could enter--a narrow window, less than a foot wide. The light in the room was dim even at noon, but the long darkness had so affected our eyes that the light from the window was sufficient to illumine the apartment and to make all objects plainly discernible. There was little to be seen. The arched roof was of solid masonry; the walls were without a break save the narrow window and the door. Through the window we could see only a patch of sky in the east, reddened by the reflection of the sinking sun; but the sight was so beautiful that Max and I were loath to leave it even for supper.
"We must eat before the light dies," said Max, whose young stomach was more imperious than mine, "or we shall have to eat in the dark. I have had more than enough of that."
"Fall to," I said, as we drew the stools to the table. With the first mouthful of clean, delicious food my appetite returned, and I ate ravenously. Had the repast been larger I believe we should have killed ourselves. Fortunately it was consumed before we were exhausted, and we came off alive and victorious. After supper darkness fell, and Max sat beside me on the bench. He was very happy, for he felt that our troubles would end with the night. I put my arm over his neck and begged him to forgive me for bringing this evil upon him.
"You shall not blame yourself, Karl," he protested. "There is no fault in you. No one is to blame save myself; I should not have gone to the bridge. I wonder what poor Yolanda is doing. Perhaps she is suffering in fear and is ignorant of our misfortune. Perhaps she thinks I have broken my promise and left Peronne. I can see her stamp her little foot, and I see her great eyes flashing in anger. Each new humor in her seems more beautiful than the last, Karl. Knowing her, I seem to have known all mankind--at least, all womankind. She has wakened me to life. Her touch has unsealed my eyes, and the pain that I take from my love for her is like a foretaste of heaven. I believe that a man comes to his full strength, mental and moral, only through the elixir of pain."
"We surely have had our share of late," I said dolefully.
"All will soon be well with us, Karl; do not fear. We shall be free to-morrow, and I will kill this Calli. Then I'll go back to Styria a better, wiser, stronger man than I could ever have been had I remained at home. This last terrible experience has been the keystone of my regeneration. It has taught me to be merciful even to the guilty, and gentle with the accused. No man shall ever suffer at my command until he has been proved guilty. Doubtless thousands of innocent men as free from crime and evil intent as we, are wasting their lives away in dungeons as loathsome as those that imprisoned us."
"Calli will not fight you," I said.
"If he refuses, I will kill him at the steps of the throne of Burgundy, let the result be what it may. God will protect me in my just vengeance. I will then go home; and I'll not return to Burgundy till I do so at the head of an army, to compel Duke Charles to behead Campo-Basso."
"What will you do about Yolanda, Max?" I asked.
The interference of the princess in our behalf had thrown more light on my important riddle, and once again I was convinced that she was Yolanda.
"I'll keep her in my heart till I die, Karl," he responded, "and I pray God to give her a happier life than mine can be. That is all I can do."
"Will you see her before you go?" I asked, fully intending that there should be no doubt on the question.
"Yes, and then--" He paused; and, after a little time, I asked:--
"And what then, Max?"
"God only knows what, Karl. I'm sure I don't," he answered.
We talked till late into the night, lay down on our soft, clean beds of straw, and were soon asleep.
I did not know how long I had been sleeping when I was wakened by a voice that seemed to fill the room, low, soft, and musical as the tones of an Aeolian harp. I groped my way noiselessly in the dark to Max's bed and aroused him. Placing my hand over his mouth to insure silence, I whispered:--
"Listen!"
He rested on his elbow, and we waited. After a few seconds the voice again resounded through the room, soft as a murmured ave, distinct as the notes of a bird. Max clutched my hand. Soon the voice came again, and we heard the words:--
"Little Max, do you hear? Answer softly."
"I hear," responded Max.
There was an uncanny note in the music of the voice. It seemed almost celestial. We could not tell whence it came. Every stone in the walls and ceiling, every slab in the floor seemed resonant with silvery tones. After Max had answered there was a pause lasting two or three minutes, and the voice spoke again:--
"I love you, Little Max. I tell you because I wish to comfort you. Do not fear. You shall be free to-morrow. Do not answer. Adieu."
"Yolanda! Yolanda!" cried Max, pleadingly; but he received no answer. He put his hand on my shoulder and said:--
"It was Yolanda, Karl--ah, God must hate a child that He brings into the world a prince."
For the rest of the night we did not sleep, neither did we speak. The morrow was to be a day of frightful import to us, and we awaited it in great anxiety.
When the morning broke and the sun shot his rays through the narrow window, we carefully examined the floor and walls of our room, but we found no opening through which the voice could have penetrated. In the side of the room formed by the wall of the tower, the mortar had fallen from between two stones, leaving one of them somewhat loose, but the castle wall at that point was fully sixteen feet thick, and it was impossible that the voice should have come through the layers of stone.
From my first acquaintance with Yolanda there had seemed to be a supernatural element in her nature, an elfin quality in her face and manner that could not be described. Max had often told me that she impressed him in like manner. The voice in our stone-girt chamber, coming as it did from nowhere, and resounding as it did everywhere, intensified that feeling till it was almost a conviction, though I am slow to accept supernatural explanations--a natural one usually exists. Of course, there are rare instances of supernatural power vested in men and women, and Yolanda's great, burning eyes caused me at times, almost to believe that she was favored with it.
The voice that we had heard was unquestionably Yolanda's, but by what strange power it was enabled to penetrate our rock-ribbed prison and give tongues to the cold stones I could not guess, though I could not stop trying. Here was another riddle set by this marvellous girl for my solving. This riddle, however, helped to solve the first, and confirmed my belief that Yolanda was Mary of Burgundy.
After breakfast Max and I were taken to the great hall, where we found Castleman standing before the ducal throne, speaking to Charles. The burgher turned toward us, and as we approached I heard him say:--
"My lord, these men are not spies."
"Who are they?" demanded the duke.
Castleman gave our names and told the story of our meeting at Basel, after we had escorted Merchant Franz from Cannstadt. Then he narrated Max's adventure at the moat bridge, closing with:--
"Count Calli grossly insulted Fräulein Castleman, for which Sir Max chastised him; and no doubt, my lord, this arrest has been made for revenge."
"Has the younger man name or title other than you have given?" asked Charles.
The burgher hesitated before he answered:--
"He has, my lord, though I may not disclose it to Your Grace without his permission, unless you order me so to do upon my fealty. That I humbly beg Your Grace not to do."
"I beg Your Grace not to ask me to disclose my identity at this time," said Max. "I am willing, should you insist upon knowing who I am, to tell it privately in Your Grace's ear; but I am travelling incognito with my friend, Sir Karl de Pitti, and I beg that I may remain so. My estate is neither very great nor very small, but what it is I desire for many reasons not to divulge. These reasons in no way touch Burgundy, and I am sure Your Grace will not wish to intrude upon them. Within a month, perhaps within a few days, I will enlighten you. If you will permit me to remain in Peronne, I will communicate my reasons to you personally; if I leave, I will write to Your Grace. I give my parole that I will, within a month, surrender myself to Your Lordship, if you are not satisfied, upon hearing my explanations, that my word is that of an honorable knight, and my station one worthy of Your Grace's respect. I hope my Lord d'Hymbercourt and my good friend Castleman will stand as hostages for me in making this pledge."
Both men eagerly offered their persons and their estates as hostages, and the duke, turning to the captain of the guard, said:--
"Remove the manacles from these knights."
The chains were removed, and the duke, coming down to the last step of the dais, looked into Max's face.
Max calmly returned the fierce gaze without so much as the faltering of an eyelid.
"All step back save this young man," ordered the duke, extending his open palm toward the courtiers.
We all fell away, but the duke said:--
"Farther back, farther back, I say! Don't crowd in like a pack of yokels at a street fight!"
Charles was acting under great excitement. I was not sure that it was not anger since his mien looked much like it. I did not know what was going to happen, and was in an agony of suspense. Anything was possible with this brutish duke when his brain was crazed with passion.
All who had been near the ducal throne moved back, till no one was within ten yards of Charles save Max. The duke wore a dagger and a shirt of mail; Max wore neither arms nor armor. After the courtiers stepped back from the throne a deep, expectant hush fell upon the room. No one could guess the intentions of this fierce, cruel duke, and I was terribly apprehensive for Max's safety. Had Max been armed, I should have had no fear for him at the hands of the duke or any other man.
Charles stepped from the dais to the floor beside Max, still gazing fixedly into his face. The men were within four feet of each other. The silence in the room was broken only by the heavy breathing of excited courtiers. The duke's voice sounded loud and harsh when he spoke to Max, and his breath came in hoarse gusts:--
"You are accused, Sir Knight, by credible witnesses of intent to murder me. For such a crime it is my privilege to kill you here and now with my own hand. What have you to say?"
Charles paused for a reply, drawing his dagger from its sheath. When Max saw the naked weapon, I noticed that he gave a start, though it was almost imperceptible. He at once recovered himself, and straightening to his full height, stepped to within two feet of the duke.
"If I plotted or intended to kill you, my lord," said Max, less moved than any other man in the room, "it is your right to kill me; but even were I guilty I doubt if my Lord of Burgundy, who is noted the world over for his bravery, would strike an unarmed man. If Your Grace wished to attack me, you would give me arms equal to your own. If you should kill me, unarmed as I am, you would be more pitiable than any other man in Burgundy. You would despise yourself, and all mankind would spurn you."
"Do you not fear me?" asked the duke, still clutching the hilt of his unsheathed dagger.
"I do not believe you have the least intent to kill me," answered Max, "but if you have, you may easily do so, and I shall be less to be pitied than you. No, I do not fear you! Do I look it, my lord?"
"No, by God, you don't look it. Neither have you cause to fear me," said Charles. "There is not another man in Christendom could have stood this ordeal without flinching."
To a brave man, bravery is above all the cardinal virtue. Charles turned toward his courtiers and continued:--
"There is one man who does not fear me--man, say I? He is little more than a boy. Men of Burgundy, take a lesson from this youth, and bear it in mind when we go to war."
The duke began to unbuckle his shirt of mail, speaking as he did so:--
"I'll soon learn who has lied. I'll show this boy that I am as brave as he."
Charles turned to Calli.
"Sir Count, did you not say this knight wished to kill me, even at the cost of his own life?"
"I so said, my lord, and so maintain upon my honor as a knight and upon my hope of salvation as a Christian. I so heard him avow," answered Calli.
"I will quickly prove or disprove your words, Sir Count," said the duke, removing his mail shirt and throwing it to the floor. Then he turned to Max and offered him the hilt of his dagger: "If you would purchase my death at the cost of your life, here is my dagger, and you may easily make the barter. I am unarmed. One blow from that great arm of yours will end all prospects of war with your Switzerland."
Max hesitatingly took the dagger and looked with a puzzled expression from it to the duke's face. Campo-Basso and his Italian friends moved toward their lord as if to protect him, but Charles waved them back with a protesting palm.
"Switzerland is not my native land, Your Grace, nor do I seek your life. Take your dagger," said Max.
"I offer you better terms," said Charles. "If you wish to kill me, I now give you safe conduct beyond the borders of Burgundy."
"My lord, you are mistaken," said Max, impatiently, tossing the dagger to the floor and stepping back from the duke. A soft ripple of laughter was heard in the ladies' gallery.
"No, it is not I that am mistaken," said Charles. "It is Campo-Basso and his friends. Count Calli, prepare to give the combat to this knight, whoever he may be, and God have mercy on your soul, for the day of your death is at hand."
Another ripple of soft laughter came from the ladies' gallery.
"I cannot fight him," wailed Calli. "I am suffering from a broken arm. My horse fell with me three weeks ago, as Your Grace well knows."
"When your arm mends, you must fight and prove your cause, or by the soul of God, you hang! We'll make a fête of this combat, and another of your funeral. There shall be a thousand candles, and masses sufficient to save the soul of Satan himself. My Lord Campo-Basso, let not the like of this happen again. Vengeance in Burgundy is mine, not my Italians'. Heralds, dismiss the company. These men are free."
All departed save Castleman, Hymbercourt, Max, and myself, who remained at the duke's request.
"If you will remain at the castle, you are most welcome," said Charles, addressing Max and me.
I would have jumped at the offer, but Max thanked the duke and declined.
"We will, with Your Grace's permission, remain at Grote's inn for a short time and then ask leave to depart from Burgundy."
The duke answered:--
"As you will. I do not press you. If you change your mind, come to the castle, and you will be very welcome."
He turned and, with brief adieu, left the great-hall by the small door near the dais. Castleman, Hymbercourt, and Max passed out through the great doors, and I was about to follow them when I was startled by the voice I had heard in the night:--
"Little Max, Little Max," came softly from the ladies' gallery.
I paused to hear more, but all was silent in the great hall. The words could have come from no other lips than Yolanda's--Mary's. True, I reasoned, Yolanda might be one of the ladies of the court, perhaps a near relative of the duke. Once the horrifying thought that he was her lover came to my mind, but it fled instantly. There was no evil in Yolanda.
Max did not hear the voice. I intended to tell him of it when we should reach the inn, and I thought to tell him also that I believed Yolanda was the Princess Mary. I changed my mind, however, and again had reason to be thankful for my silence.
The next day came the invitation to sup at Castleman's, and we were on hand promptly at the appointed time--four o'clock. Before leaving the inn I had determined to ask Castleman to satisfy my curiosity concerning Yolanda. With good reason I felt that it was my duty and my right to know certainly who she was. She might not be Mary of Burgundy, but she surely was not a burgher girl, and in some manner she was connected with the court of Duke Charles.
Max and I were sitting in the long room (it was on the ground floor and extended across the entire front of the house) with Castleman when Frau Kate entered followed by Yolanda and Twonette. The frau courtesied, and gave us welcome. Twonette courtesied and stepped to her father's side. Yolanda gave Max her hand and lifted it to be kissed. The girl laughed joyously, and, giving him her other hand, stood looking up into his face. Her laughter soon became nervous, and that change in a womanly woman is apt to be the forerunner of tears. They soon came to moisten Yolanda's eyes, but she kept herself well in hand and said:--
"It has been a very long time, Sir Max, since last I saw you."
"A hard, cruel time for me, Fräulein. Your hot-headed duke gives strange license to his murderous courtiers," answered Max.
"It has been a hard time for others, too," she responded. "Hard for uncle, hard for tante, hard for Twonette--very hard for Twonette." She spoke jestingly, but one might easily see her emotion.
"And you, Fräulein?" he asked smilingly.
"I--I dare not say how hard it has been for me, Little Max. Do you not see? I fear--I fear I shall--weep--if I try to tell you. I am almost weeping now. I fear I have grown gray because of it," she answered, closing with a nervous laugh. Max, too, could hardly speak. She smiled up into his face, and bending before him stood on tiptoe to bring the top of her head under his inspection.
"You may see the white hairs if you look carefully," she said.
Max laughed and stooped to examine the great bush of fluffy dark hair.
"I see not one white hair," he said.
"Look closely," she insisted.
He looked closely, and startled us all, including Yolanda, by putting his lips to the fragrant, silky mass.
"Ah!" exclaimed Yolanda, stepping back from him and placing her hand to the top of her head on the spot that he had kissed. She looked up to him with a fluttering little laugh:--
"I--I did not know you were going to do that."
"Neither did I," said Max.
Castleman and his wife looked displeased and Twonette's face wore an expression of amused surprise.
After a constrained pause Frau Katherine said:--
"Our guests are not in the habit of kissing us."
"No one has kissed you, tante," retorted Yolanda, "nor do they intend to do so. Do not fear. I--I brought it on myself, and if I do not complain, you may bear up under it."
"It certainly is unusual to--" began the frau.
"Tante," cried Yolanda, flushing angrily and stamping her foot. Tante was silent.
"Your words night before last brought marvellous comfort to us, Fräulein," said Max. "Where were you, and how--"
"My words? Night before last?" asked Yolanda, in open-eyed wonder, "I have not seen you since three weeks ago."
"You called to me in my prison in the tower," said Max. "You called to me by the name you sometimes use."
"Ah, that is wonderful," exclaimed Yolanda. "I wakened myself night before last calling your name, and telling you not to fear. I was dreaming that you were in danger, but I also dreamed that you would soon be free. Can it be possible that the voice of a dreamer can travel to a distance and penetrate stone walls? You almost make me fear myself by telling me that you heard my call."
Like most persons, Max loved the mysterious, so he at once became greatly interested. He would have discussed the subject further had not Yolanda turned to me, saying:--
"Ah, I have not greeted Sir Karl."
She gave me her hand, and I would have knelt had she not prevented me by a surprised arching of her eyebrows. My attempt to salute her on my knee was involuntary, but when I saw the warning expression in her eyes, I quickly recovered myself. I bowed and she withdrew her hand.
"Let us go to the garden," she suggested.
The others left the room, but Yolanda held back and detained me by a gesture.
"You would have knelt to me," she said almost angrily.
"Yes, mademoiselle," I replied, "the movement was involuntary."
"I once warned you, Sir Karl, not to try to learn anything concerning me. I told you that useless knowledge was dangerous. You have been guessing, and probably are very far wrong in your conclusion. But whatever your surmises are, don't let me know them. Above all, say nothing to Sir Max; I warn you! Unless you would see no more of me, bear this warning in mind. Yolanda is a burgher girl. Treat her accordingly, and impress the fact on Sir Max. Were I as great as the ill-tempered Princess of Burgundy, whose estates you came to woo, I should still despise adulation. Bah! I hate it all," she continued, stamping her foot. "I hate princes and princesses, and do not understand how they can endure to have men kneel and grovel before them. This fine Princess of Burgundy, I am told, looks--" She paused and then went on: "I sometimes hate her most of all. I am a burgher girl, I tell you, and I am proud of it. I warn you not to make me other."
"Your warning, my lady, is--"
"Fräulein!" interrupted Yolanda, angrily stamping her foot, "or Yolanda--call me either. If I give you the privilege, you should value it sufficiently to use it."
"Yolanda, I will sin no more," I responded. Her face broke into a smile, and she took my arm, laughing contentedly.
I walked out to the garden--Yolanda danced out--and we sat with the others under the shade of the arbor vines. Castleman and Max drank sparingly of wine and honey, while I sipped orange water with Yolanda, Twonette, and Frau Kate.
"What do you think of Burgundy, Sir Max?" asked the burgher.
"I like Grote's inn well," answered Max. "I like the castle dungeon ill. I have seen little else of Burgundy save in our journey down the Somme. Then I saw nothing but the road on the opposite bank. Had I tried to see the country I should have failed; the dust-cloud we carried with us was impenetrable." He turned to Yolanda, "That was a hard journey for you, Fräulein."
"No, no," she cried, "it was glorious. The excitement was worth a lifetime of monotony; it was delightful. I could feel my heart beat all the time, and no woman is sure she lives until she feels the beating of her heart."
I suspected a double meaning in her words, but no trace of self-consciousness was visible in her face.
"I have often wondered, Fräulein, if the papers reached the castle before the duke arrived?" asked Max.
"What papers?" queried Yolanda.
"Why, the papers we made the mad race to deliver," answered Max.
"Oh, y-e-s," responded the girl, "they arrived just in time."
"And were delivered at the gate?" I suggested.
A quick, angry glance of surprise shot from Yolanda's eyes, and rising from her chair she entered the house. Twonette followed her, and the two did not return for an hour. I was accumulating evidence on the subject of my puzzling riddle, but I feared my last batch might prove expensive. I saw the mistake my tongue had led me into. Many a man has wrecked his fortune by airing his wit.
When Yolanda returned, she sat at a little distance from us, pouting beautifully. The cause of her unmistakable ill-humor, of course, was known only to me, and was a source of wonder to Max. At the end of five minutes, during which there had been little conversation, Max, who was amused at Yolanda's pouting, turned to her, and said:--
"The Fates owe me a few smiles as compensation for their frowns during the last three weeks. Won't you help them to pay me, Fräulein?"
Her face had been averted, but when Max spoke she turned slowly and gave him the smile he desired as if to say, "I am not pouting at you."
Her act was so childlike and her face so childishly beautiful that we all smiled with amusement and pleasure. Yolanda saw the smiles and turned on us, pouting though almost ready to laugh. She rose from her chair, stamped her foot, stood irresolutely for a moment, and then breaking into a laugh, drew her chair to our little circle--next to Max--and sat down.
"Tante, is supper never to be served?" she asked. "I am impatient to see the live wren pie."
"Live wren pie?" asked Max, incredulously.
"Yes. Have you never seen one?" asked Yolanda.
"Surely not," he replied.
"Ah, you have a treat in store," she exclaimed, clapping her hands enthusiastically. "Uncle carves the pie, the wrens fly out, you open your mouth, and the birds, being very small, fly down your throat and save you the trouble eating them. They are trained to do it, you know."
A chorus of laughter followed this remarkable statement. Max leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, looked at the ground for the space of half a minute, and said:--
"I was mistaken in saying that I had never partaken of the dish. While at Basel I foolishly opened my mouth, and a beautiful little bird flew down my throat to my heart."
Frau Castleman coughed, and the burgher moved in his chair and swallowed half a goblet of wine. Twonette laughed outright at the pretty turn Max had made upon Yolanda, and I ridiculously tried to keep my face expressionless. Yolanda laughed flutteringly, and the long lashes fell.
"That was prettily spoken, Sir Max," she said, smiling. "No Frenchman could improve upon it. You are constantly surprising me."
"Are Frenchmen apt at such matters, Fräulein?" I asked.
"I have known but few Frenchmen," she responded. "You know Burgundy and France are natural enemies, like the cat and the dog. I have little love for the French. I speak only from hearsay."
"You will do well to learn to like them," I suggested. "Burgundy itself will soon be French, if the Princess Mary weds the Dauphin."
By speaking freely of the princess, I hoped Yolanda might believe that, whatever my surmises were concerning her identity, I did not suspect that she was Mademoiselle de Burgundy.
Yolanda sighed, but did not answer. Silence fell upon our little party, and after a long pause I turned to Twonette:--
"I remember that Franz told me at Basel, Fräulein Twonette, that you and this famous Princess Mary of Burgundy were friends."
"Yes," answered Twonette, with an effort not to smile, "she has, at times, honored me with her notice."
"Out of that fact grows Twonette's serene dignity," laughed Yolanda. "On the strength of this acquaintance she quite lords it over us at times, and is always reminding me of the many haughty virtues of her friend as a pattern that I should follow. You see, I am incessantly confronted with this princess."
I thought it was a pretty piece of acting, though the emphasis of her dislike for the princess was unmistakably genuine.
"The duke has graciously invited us to the castle," I said, "and I hope to have the honor of seeing the princess."
When I spoke of the duke's invitation, I at once caught Yolanda's attention.
"You will not meet the princess if you go to the castle," said Yolanda. "She is an ill-natured person, I am told, and is far from gracious to strangers."
"I do not hope for such an honor," I replied. "I should like merely to see her before I leave Burgundy. That is all the favor I ask at her hands. She is a lady famed throughout all Europe for her beauty and her gentleness."
"She doesn't merit her fame," responded Yolanda, carefully examining her hands folded in her lap, and glancing nervously toward Max.
"Do you know Her Highness?" I asked.
"I--I have heard enough of her and have often seen her," she replied. "She usually rides out with her ladies at this hour. From the upper end of the garden you may soon see her come through the Postern gate, if you care to watch."
"I certainly should like to see her," I answered, rapidly losing faith in my conclusion that Yolanda was the princess.
The Castlemans did not offer to move, but Yolanda, springing to her feet, said, "Come," and led the way.
The upper end of the garden, as I have told you, was on the banks of the Cologne at a point where it flowed into the castle moat. The castle wall, sixty feet high at that point, bordered the west side of the garden. The moat curved along the right side, and the river flowed past the upper end. Castleman's house faced south, and stood on the lower end of the strip of ground that lay between the castle wall and the moat. The Postern was perhaps three hundred yards north from the upper end of Castleman's garden. Since it was on the opposite side of the river, one could reach the Postern, from Castleman's house, only by going up to the town bridge and back to the castle by the street that followed the north side of the Cologne.
We all walked to the upper end of the garden, and stood leaning against the low stone wall at the river's edge. We had waited perhaps ten minutes when we heard a blare of trumpets and saw a small cavalcade of ladies and gentlemen ride from the castle and pass over the drawbridge.
"The lady in scarlet is the duchess," said Castleman.
"She is English," remarked Yolanda, "and loves bright colors."
"Which is the princess?" I asked of Yolanda, feeling that I also was acting my part admirably. To my surprise she answered promptly:--
"She in blue with a falcon on her shoulder. Am I not right, uncle?"
"Yes," responded Castleman. Twonette confirmed the statement.
My air-castles fell noiselessly about my head. My dreams vanished like breath from a cold mirror, and the sphinx-like face of my great riddle rose before me in defiance.
After the cavalcade had passed I found myself with Yolanda a dozen paces from the others.
"Fräulein," I said, "I want to confess I thought you were the Princess Mary of Burgundy."
Yolanda laughed softly.
"I was sure you had some such absurd notion. I supposed you had seen her, and had believed she was Yolanda, the burgher girl; that mistake has often been made. You may see this princess at the castle, and I warn you not to be deceived. I have the great honor, it is said, to resemble Her Highness as one pea resembles another. I have been told that she has heard of the low-born maiden that dares to have a face like hers, and she doubtless hates me for it, just as I bear her no good-will for the same reason. When two women greatly resemble each other, there is seldom good feeling between them. Each believes the other is stealing something of her personality, and a woman's vanity prompts her to resent it. If you make the mistake with the princess that you made with me, I warn you it will not be so easily corrected."
My poor riddle! My stony sphinx! My clinging hallucination! Again I should have it with me, stalking at my side by day, lying by me at night, whirling through my brain at all times, and driving me mad with its eternal question, "Who is Yolanda?" The solution of my riddle may be clear to you as I am telling you the story. At least, you may think it is, since I am trying to conceal nothing from you. I relate this history in the order of its happening, and wish, if possible, to place before you the manner in which this question of Yolanda's identity puzzled me. If you will put yourself in my place, you will at once realize how deeply I was affected by this momentous, unanswered, unanswerable question, "Who is Yolanda?" and you will understand why I could not see the solution, however clear you may believe it to be to yourself.
We soon went in to supper and, after the peacock, the pheasants, and the pastries were removed, we were served with a most delicious after-dish in sparkling glass cups. It was frozen orange-water mixed with wine of Burgundy. I had never tasted a dish so palatable. I had dined at the emperor's table in Vienna; I had lived in Italy; I had sojourned in the East, where luxuries are most valued and used, but I had never partaken of a more delicious supper than that which I ate at the house of my rich burgher friend, George Castleman. There might have been a greater showing of plate, though that was not lacking, but there could have been no whiter linen nor more appetizing dishes than those which good Frau Kate gave us that evening.
After the frozen wine had disappeared, a serving-maid brought in a stoneware pan covered with a snowy pastry, made from the whites of eggs and clear sugar. At its entry Yolanda clapped her hands and cried out with childish delight. When the pan was placed before Castleman, she exclaimed:--
"Be careful, uncle! Don't thrust the knife too deep, or you will kill the birds."
Uncle Castleman ran the point of the knife around the outer edge of the crust, and, with a twist of the blade, quickly lifted it from the pan, when out flew a dozen or more wrens. Yolanda's delight knew no bounds. She sprang from her chair, exclaiming:--
"Catch them! Catch them!" and led the way.
She climbed on chairs, tables, and window shelves, and soon had her hands full of the demure little songsters. Max, too, was pursuing the wrens, and Twonette, losing part of her serenity, actually caught a bird. The sport was infectious, and soon fat old Castleman was puffing like a tired porpoise, and sedate old Karl de Pitti was in the chase. Frau Katherine grabbed desperately at a bird now and then, but she was too stout to catch one and soon took her chair, laughing and out of breath. Yolanda screamed with laughter, and after she had caught six or seven birds and put them in the cage provided for them, she asked Max to lift her in his arms that she might reach one resting on a beam near the ceiling. Max gladly complied, and Yolanda, having caught the bird, said:--
"Now, Sir Max, open your mouth."
"I have already swallowed one," said Max, laughing, "and I will swallow none other so long as I live."
As Max lowered her to the floor her arm fell about his neck for an instant, and the great strong boy trembled at the touch of this weak girl.
Out to the garden we went again after supper, and when dusk began to fall, Yolanda led Max to a rustic seat in the deep shadow of the vines. I could not hear their words, but I learned afterward of the conversation.
When I thought Yolanda was the princess, I was joyful because of the marked favor that she showed Max. When I thought she was a burgher girl, I felt like a fussy old hen with a flock of ducks if he were alone with her. She seemed then a bewitching little ogress slowly devouring my handsome Prince Max. That she was fair, entrancing, and lovable beyond any woman I had ever known, only added to my anxiety. Would Max be strong enough to hold out against her wooing? I don't like to apply the word "wooing" to a young girl's conduct, but we all know that woman does her part in the great system of human mating when the persons most interested do the choosing; and it is right that she should. The modesty that prevents a woman from showing her preference is the result of a false philosophy, and flies in the face of nature. Her right to choose is as good as man's.
If Yolanda's wooing was more pronounced than is usual with a modest young girl, it must be remembered that her situation was different. She knew that Max had been restrained from wooing her only because of the impassable gulf that lay between them. Ardor in Max when marriage was impossible would have been an insult to Yolanda. His reticence for conscience' sake and for her sake was the most chivalric flattery he could have paid her. She saw the situation clearly, and, trusting Max implicitly, felt safe in giving rein to her heart. She did not care to hide from him its true condition. On the contrary she wished him to be as sure of her as she was of him, for after all that would be the only satisfaction they would ever know.
I argued: If Yolanda were the princess, betrothed to the Dauphin, the gulf between her and Max was as impassable as if she were a burgher girl. In neither case could she hope to marry him. Therefore, her girlish wooing was but the outcry of nature and was without boldness.
The paramount instinct of all nature is to flower. Even the frozen Alpine rock sends forth its edelweiss, and the heart of a princess is first the heart of a woman, and must blossom when its spring comes. All the conventions that man can invent will not keep back the flower. All created things, animate and inanimate, have in them an uncontrollable impulse which, in their spring, reverts with a holy retrospect to the great first principle of existence, the love of reproduction.
Yolanda's spring had come, and her heart was a flower with the sacred bloom. Being a woman, she loved it and cuddled it for the sake of the pain it brought, as a mother fondles a wayward child. Max, being a man, struggled against the joy that hurt him and, with a sympathy broad enough for two, feared the pain he might bring to Yolanda. So this unresponsiveness in Max made him doubly attractive to the girl, who was of the sort, whether royal or bourgeois, before whom men usually fall.
"I thought you had left me, Sir Max," she said, drawing him to a seat beside her in the shade.
"I promised you I would not go," he responded, "and I would not willingly break my word to any one, certainly not to you, Fräulein."
"I was angry when I heard you had left the inn," she said, "and I spoke unkindly of you. There has been an ache in my heart ever since that nothing but confession and remission will cure."
"I grant the remission gladly," answered Max. "There was flattery in your anger."
The girl laughed softly and, clasping her hands over her knee, spoke with a sigh.
"I think women have the harder part of life in everything. I again ask you to promise me that you will not leave Peronne within a month."
"I cannot promise you that, Fräulein," answered Max.
"You will some day--soon, perhaps--know my reasons," said Yolanda, "and if they do not prove good I am willing to forfeit your esteem. That is the greatest hostage I can give."
"I cannot promise," answered Max, stubbornly.
"I offer you another inducement, one that will overmatch the small weight of my poor wishes. I promise to bring you to meet this Mary of Burgundy whom you came to woo. I cannot present you, but I will see that Twonette brings about the meeting. I tell you, as I have already told Sir Karl, that it is said I resemble this princess, so you must not mistake her for me."
When Max told me of this offer I wondered if the girl had been testing him, and a light dawned on me concerning her motives.
"I did not come to woo her," answered Max, "though she may have been a part of my reason for coming. I knew that she was affianced to the Dauphin of France. Her beauty and goodness were known to me through letters of my Lord d'Hymbercourt, written to my dear old friend Karl. Because of certain transactions, of which you do not know and of which I may not speak, I esteemed her for a time above all women, though I had never seen her. I still esteem her, but--but the other is all past now, Fräulein, and I do not wish to meet the princess, though the honor would be far beyond my deserts."
"Why do you not wish to meet her?" asked Yolanda, with an air of pleasure. Max hesitated, then answered bluntly:--
"Because I have met you, Fräulein. You should not lead me to speak such words."
Yolanda touched Max's arm and said frankly:--
"There can be no harm, Max. If you knew all,--if I could tell you all,--you would understand. The words can harm neither of us." She hesitated and, with drooping head, continued: "And they are to me as the sun and the south wind to the flowers and the corn. You already know all that is in my heart, or I would not speak so plainly. In all my life I have known little of the sweet touch of human sympathy and love, and, Max, my poor heart yearns for them until at times I feel like the flowers without the sun and the corn without the rain,--as if I will die for lack of them. I am almost tempted to tell you all."
"Tell me all, Yolanda," entreated Max, "for I, too, have suffered from the same want, though my misfortune comes from being born to a high estate. If you but knew the lonely, corroding misery of those born to a station above the reach of real human sympathy, you would not envy, you would pity them. You would be charitable to their sins, and would thank God for your lowly lot in life. I will tell you my secret. I am Maximilian of Hapsburg."
"I have known it since the first day I saw you at Basel," answered Yolanda.
"I have felt sure at times that you did," responded Max, "though I cannot think how you learned it. Will you tell me of yourself?"
The girl hung her head and hesitated. Once she lifted her face to speak, but changed her mind.
"Please don't ask me now. I will tell you soon, but not now, not now. Be patient with me. I do pity you. I do, I do. If we could help each other--but we cannot, and there is no use longing for it. I sometimes fear that your attitude is the right one, and that it is best that we should part and meet no more."
The proposition to part and meet no more was good in theory, but Max found that the suggestion to make a fact of it frightened him.
"Let us not speak of that now," he said. "The parting will come soon enough. You will surely deem me cold and unworthy, Fräulein, but you cannot understand. One may not call a man hard and selfish who plucks out his eye for the sake of a God-imposed duty, or who deliberately thrusts away happiness and accepts a life of misery and heartache because of the chains with which God bound him at his birth."
"Ah, I do understand, Max; I understand only too well," answered the girl.
I have often wondered why Max did not suspect that Yolanda was the Princess Mary; but when I considered that he had not my reasons to lead him to that conclusion, I easily understood his blindness, for even I was unconvinced. Had I not overheard Castleman's conversation with Yolanda on the road to Strasburg, after meeting De Rose, the supposition that the burgher girl travelling unattended with a merchant and his daughter could possibly be the Princess Mary would have been beyond the credence of a sane man. The thought never would have occurred to me. Even with Castleman's words always ringing in my ears, I was constantly in doubt.
"There is no reason why one should deliberately hasten the day of one's thralldom," said Yolanda, softly. "If one may be free and happy for an hour without breaking those terrible chains of God's welding, is he not foolish to refuse the small benediction? The memory of it may sweeten the years to come."
"To woman, such a memory is sweet," answered Max, striving to steel his heart against the girl. "To men, it is a bitter regret."
To me he had spoken differently of his pain.
"Then be generous, Little Max, and give me the sweet memory," said the girl, carried away by the swirling impulse of her heart.
"You will not need it," answered Max. "Your lot will be different from mine."
"Yes, it will be different, Max--it will be worse," she cried passionately, almost in tears. "I think I shall kill myself when you leave Burgundy." She paused and turned fiercely upon him, "Give me the promise I ask. I demand at least that consolation as my right--as a poor return for what you take from me."
Max gently took her hand, which was at once lost in his great clasp.
"Fräulein, I will not leave Burgundy within a month, whatever the consequences may be," he said tenderly.
"Upon your honor?" she asked, joyously clapping her hands.
"Every promise I make, Fräulein, is on my honor," said Max, seriously.
"So it is, Little Max, so it is," she answered gently. Then they rose and came to the table where Castleman and I were sitting.
Yolanda had gained her point and was joyful over her victory.
Frau Katherine was asleep in a high-backed chair. Twonette slept in a corner of the arbor, her flaxen head embowered in a cluster of leaves and illumined by a stray beam of moonlight that stole between the vines.
"I am going in now. Come, Twonette," said Yolanda, shaking that plump young lady to arouse her. "Come, Twonette."
Twonette slowly opened her big blue eyes, but she was slower in awakening.
"Twonette! Twonette!" cried Yolanda, pulling at the girl's hand. "I declare, if you don't resist this growing drowsiness you will go down in history as the 'Eighth Sleeper,' and will be left snoring on resurrection morn."
When Twonette had awakened sufficiently to walk, we started from the arbor to the house. As we passed from beneath the vines, the frowning wall of the castle and the dark forms of its huge towers, silhouetted in black against the moon-lit sky, formed a picture of fierce and sombre gloom not soon to be forgotten.
"The dark, frowning castle reminds one of its terrible lord," said Max, looking up at the battlements.
"It does, indeed," answered Yolanda, hardly above a whisper. Then we went into the house.
"We hope to see you again for supper to-morrow evening, don't we, uncle?" said Yolanda, addressing Max and me, and turning to Castleman.
"Yes--yes, to-morrow evening," said the burgher, hesitatingly.
Max accepted the invitation and we made our adieux.
At the bridge over the Cologne we met Hymbercourt returning to his house from the castle. While we talked, the cavalcade of ladies and gentlemen that we had watched from Castleman's garden cantered up the street.
"You will now see the princess," said Hymbercourt. "She comes with the duke and the duchess. They left the castle at five, and have been riding in the moonlight."
We stepped to one side of the street as the cavalcade passed, and I asked Hymbercourt to point out the princess.
"She rides between the duke--the tall figure that you may recognize by his long beard--and the page carrying a hooded falcon," he answered.
Surely this evidence should have put my mind at rest concerning my hallucination that Yolanda was Mary of Burgundy; but when we reached the inn and Max told me of his conversation with Yolanda the riddle again sprang up like a jack-in-the-box. I felt that I was growing weak in mind. Yolanda's desire to tell Max her secret, and her refusal; her longing for human sympathy, and the lack of it; her wish that he should remain in Peronne for a month--all these made me feel that she was the princess.