CHAPTER XII
A LIVE WREN PIE
The next day came the invitation to sup at Castleman's, and we were onhand promptly at the appointed time--four o'clock. Before leaving theinn I had determined to ask Castleman to satisfy my curiosity concerningYolanda. With good reason I felt that it was my duty and my right toknow certainly who she was. She might not be Mary of Burgundy, but shesurely was not a burgher girl, and in some manner she was connected withthe court of Duke Charles.
Max and I were sitting in the long room (it was on the ground floor andextended across the entire front of the house) with Castleman when FrauKate entered followed by Yolanda and Twonette. The frau courtesied, andgave us welcome. Twonette courtesied and stepped to her father's side.Yolanda gave Max her hand and lifted it to be kissed. The girl laughedjoyously, and, giving him her other hand, stood looking up into hisface. Her laughter soon became nervous, and that change in a womanlywoman is apt to be the forerunner of tears. They soon came to moistenYolanda'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, Fraeulein. Your hot-headed duke gives strangelicense to his murderous courtiers," answered Max.
"It has been a hard time for others, too," she responded. "Hard foruncle, hard for tante, hard for Twonette--very hard for Twonette." Shespoke jestingly, but one might easily see her emotion.
"And you, Fraeulein?" he asked smilingly.
"I--I dare not say how hard it has been for me, Little Max. Do you notsee? I fear--I fear I shall--weep--if I try to tell you. I am almostweeping now. I fear I have grown gray because of it," she answered,closing with a nervous laugh. Max, too, could hardly speak. She smiledup into his face, and bending before him stood on tiptoe to bring thetop 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 puttinghis lips to the fragrant, silky mass.
"Ah!" exclaimed Yolanda, stepping back from him and placing her hand tothe top of her head on the spot that he had kissed. She looked up to himwith 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 anexpression 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 todo 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. Tantewas silent.
"Your words night before last brought marvellous comfort to us,Fraeulein," said Max. "Where were you, and how--"
"My words? Night before last?" asked Yolanda, in open-eyed wonder, "Ihave not seen you since three weeks ago."
"You called to me in my prison in the tower," said Max. "You called tome by the name you sometimes use."
"Ah, that is wonderful," exclaimed Yolanda. "I wakened myself nightbefore last calling your name, and telling you not to fear. I wasdreaming that you were in danger, but I also dreamed that you would soonbe free. Can it be possible that the voice of a dreamer can travel to adistance and penetrate stone walls? You almost make me fear myself bytelling me that you heard my call."
Like most persons, Max loved the mysterious, so he at once becamegreatly interested. He would have discussed the subject further had notYolanda 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 bya surprised arching of her eyebrows. My attempt to salute her on my kneewas involuntary, but when I saw the warning expression in her eyes, Iquickly 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 agesture.
"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 concerningme. I told you that useless knowledge was dangerous. You have beenguessing, and probably are very far wrong in your conclusion. Butwhatever your surmises are, don't let me know them. Above all, saynothing to Sir Max; I warn you! Unless you would see no more of me, bearthis 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-temperedPrincess of Burgundy, whose estates you came to woo, I should stilldespise adulation. Bah! I hate it all," she continued, stamping herfoot. "I hate princes and princesses, and do not understand how they canendure to have men kneel and grovel before them. This fine Princess ofBurgundy, I am told, looks--" She paused and then went on: "I sometimeshate her most of all. I am a burgher girl, I tell you, and I am proud ofit. I warn you not to make me other."
"Your warning, my lady, is--"
"Fraeulein!" interrupted Yolanda, angrily stamping her foot, "orYolanda--call me either. If I give you the privilege, you should valueit 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 theothers under the shade of the arbor vines. Castleman and Max dranksparingly 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 seethe country I should have failed; the dust-cloud we carried with us wasimpenetrable." He turned to Yolanda, "That was a hard journey for you,Fraeulein."
"No, no," she cried, "it was glorious. The excitement was worth alifetime of monotony; it was delightful. I could feel my heart beat allthe time, and no woman is sure she lives until she feels the beating ofher heart."
I suspected a double meaning in her words, but no trace ofself-consciousness was visible in her face.
"I have often wondered, Fraeulein, if the papers reached the castlebefore 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 risingfrom her chair she entered the house. Twonette followed her, and the twodid not return for an hour. I was accumulating evidence on the subjectof 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 hisfortune by airing his wit.
When Yolanda returned, she sat at a little distance from us, poutingbeautifully. The cause of her unmistakable ill-humor, of course, wasknown only to me, and was a source of wonder to Max. At the end of fiveminutes, during which there had been little conversation, Max, who wasamused at Yolanda's pouting, turned to her, and said:--
"The Fates owe me a few smiles as compensation for their frowns duringthe last three weeks. Won't you help them to pay me, Fraeulein?"
Her face had been averted, but when Max spoke she turned slowly and gavehim 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 weall smiled with amusement and
pleasure. Yolanda saw the smiles andturned on us, pouting though almost ready to laugh. She rose from herchair, stamped her foot, stood irresolutely for a moment, and thenbreaking into a laugh, drew her chair to our little circle--next toMax--and sat down.
"Tante, is supper never to be served?" she asked. "I am impatient to seethe 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 handsenthusiastically. "Uncle carves the pie, the wrens fly out, you openyour mouth, and the birds, being very small, fly down your throat andsave you the trouble eating them. They are trained to do it, you know."
A chorus of laughter followed this remarkable statement. Max leanedforward, rested his elbows on his knees, looked at the ground for thespace of half a minute, and said:--
"I was mistaken in saying that I had never partaken of the dish. Whileat Basel I foolishly opened my mouth, and a beautiful little bird flewdown my throat to my heart."
Frau Castleman coughed, and the burgher moved in his chair and swallowedhalf a goblet of wine. Twonette laughed outright at the pretty turn Maxhad made upon Yolanda, and I ridiculously tried to keep my faceexpressionless. Yolanda laughed flutteringly, and the long lashes fell.
"That was prettily spoken, Sir Max," she said, smiling. "No Frenchmancould improve upon it. You are constantly surprising me."
"Are Frenchmen apt at such matters, Fraeulein?" I asked.
"I have known but few Frenchmen," she responded. "You know Burgundy andFrance are natural enemies, like the cat and the dog. I have little lovefor the French. I speak only from hearsay."
"You will do well to learn to like them," I suggested. "Burgundy itselfwill 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 suspectthat 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, Fraeulein Twonette, that you andthis famous Princess Mary of Burgundy were friends."
"Yes," answered Twonette, with an effort not to smile, "she has, attimes, honored me with her notice."
"Out of that fact grows Twonette's serene dignity," laughed Yolanda. "Onthe 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 asa pattern that I should follow. You see, I am incessantly confrontedwith this princess."
I thought it was a pretty piece of acting, though the emphasis of herdislike for the princess was unmistakably genuine.
"The duke has graciously invited us to the castle," I said, "and I hopeto have the honor of seeing the princess."
When I spoke of the duke's invitation, I at once caught Yolanda'sattention.
"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 tostrangers."
"I do not hope for such an honor," I replied. "I should like merely tosee her before I leave Burgundy. That is all the favor I ask at herhands. She is a lady famed throughout all Europe for her beauty and hergentleness."
"She doesn't merit her fame," responded Yolanda, carefully examining herhands 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 endof the garden you may soon see her come through the Postern gate, if youcare to watch."
"I certainly should like to see her," I answered, rapidly losing faithin my conclusion that Yolanda was the princess.
The Castlemans did not offer to move, but Yolanda, springing to herfeet, said, "Come," and led the way.
The upper end of the garden, as I have told you, was on the banks of theCologne at a point where it flowed into the castle moat. The castlewall, sixty feet high at that point, bordered the west side of thegarden. The moat curved along the right side, and the river flowed pastthe upper end. Castleman's house faced south, and stood on the lower endof 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 ofCastleman's garden. Since it was on the opposite side of the river, onecould reach the Postern, from Castleman's house, only by going up to thetown bridge and back to the castle by the street that followed the northside of the Cologne.
We all walked to the upper end of the garden, and stood leaning againstthe low stone wall at the river's edge. We had waited perhaps tenminutes when we heard a blare of trumpets and saw a small cavalcade ofladies 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 wasacting 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 likebreath from a cold mirror, and the sphinx-like face of my great riddlerose before me in defiance.
After the cavalcade had passed I found myself with Yolanda a dozen pacesfrom the others.
"Fraeulein," I said, "I want to confess I thought you were the PrincessMary of Burgundy."
Yolanda laughed softly.
"I was sure you had some such absurd notion. I supposed you had seenher, and had believed she was Yolanda, the burgher girl; that mistakehas often been made. You may see this princess at the castle, and I warnyou not to be deceived. I have the great honor, it is said, to resembleHer Highness as one pea resembles another. I have been told that she hasheard of the low-born maiden that dares to have a face like hers, andshe doubtless hates me for it, just as I bear her no good-will for thesame reason. When two women greatly resemble each other, there isseldom good feeling between them. Each believes the other is stealingsomething of her personality, and a woman's vanity prompts her to resentit. If you make the mistake with the princess that you made with me, Iwarn you it will not be so easily corrected."
My poor riddle! My stony sphinx! My clinging hallucination! Again Ishould have it with me, stalking at my side by day, lying by me atnight, whirling through my brain at all times, and driving me mad withits eternal question, "Who is Yolanda?" The solution of my riddle may beclear to you as I am telling you the story. At least, you may think itis, since I am trying to conceal nothing from you. I relate this historyin the order of its happening, and wish, if possible, to place beforeyou 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 howdeeply I was affected by this momentous, unanswered, unanswerablequestion, "Who is Yolanda?" and you will understand why I could not seethe solution, however clear you may believe it to be to yourself.
We soon went in to supper and, after the peacock, the pheasants, and thepastries were removed, we were served with a most delicious after-dishin sparkling glass cups. It was frozen orange-water mixed with wine ofBurgundy. I had never tasted a dish so palatable. I had dined at theemperor's table in Vienna; I had lived in Italy; I had sojourned in theEast, where luxuries are most valued and used, but I had never partakenof a more delicious supper than that which I ate at the house of my richburgher friend, George Castleman. There might have been a greatershowing of plate, though that was not lacking, but there could have beenno whiter linen nor more appetizing dishes than those which good FrauKate gave us that evening.
After the frozen wine had disappeared, a serving-maid brought in astoneware pan covered wit
h a snowy pastry, made from the whites of eggsand clear sugar. At its entry Yolanda clapped her hands and cried outwith childish delight. When the pan was placed before Castleman, sheexclaimed:--
"Be careful, uncle! Don't thrust the knife too deep, or you will killthe birds."
Uncle Castleman ran the point of the knife around the outer edge of thecrust, 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 herhands full of the demure little songsters. Max, too, was pursuing thewrens, and Twonette, losing part of her serenity, actually caught abird. The sport was infectious, and soon fat old Castleman was puffinglike 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 wastoo stout to catch one and soon took her chair, laughing and out ofbreath. Yolanda screamed with laughter, and after she had caught six orseven birds and put them in the cage provided for them, she asked Max tolift her in his arms that she might reach one resting on a beam near theceiling. Max gladly complied, and Yolanda, having caught thebird, said:--
"Now, Sir Max, open your mouth."
"I have already swallowed one," said Max, laughing, "and I will swallownone other so long as I live."
As Max lowered her to the floor her arm fell about his neck for aninstant, and the great strong boy trembled at the touch of thisweak girl.
Out to the garden we went again after supper, and when dusk began tofall, 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 theconversation.
When I thought Yolanda was the princess, I was joyful because of themarked 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 withher. She seemed then a bewitching little ogress slowly devouring myhandsome Prince Max. That she was fair, entrancing, and lovable beyondany woman I had ever known, only added to my anxiety. Would Max bestrong enough to hold out against her wooing? I don't like to apply theword "wooing" to a young girl's conduct, but we all know that woman doesher part in the great system of human mating when the persons mostinterested do the choosing; and it is right that she should. The modestythat prevents a woman from showing her preference is the result of afalse philosophy, and flies in the face of nature. Her right to chooseis as good as man's.
If Yolanda's wooing was more pronounced than is usual with a modestyoung girl, it must be remembered that her situation was different. Sheknew that Max had been restrained from wooing her only because of theimpassable gulf that lay between them. Ardor in Max when marriage wasimpossible would have been an insult to Yolanda. His reticence forconscience' sake and for her sake was the most chivalric flattery hecould have paid her. She saw the situation clearly, and, trusting Maximplicitly, felt safe in giving rein to her heart. She did not care tohide from him its true condition. On the contrary she wished him to beas sure of her as she was of him, for after all that would be the onlysatisfaction they would ever know.
I argued: If Yolanda were the princess, betrothed to the Dauphin, thegulf between her and Max was as impassable as if she were a burghergirl. In neither case could she hope to marry him. Therefore, hergirlish wooing was but the outcry of nature and was without boldness.
The paramount instinct of all nature is to flower. Even the frozenAlpine rock sends forth its edelweiss, and the heart of a princess isfirst the heart of a woman, and must blossom when its spring comes. Allthe conventions that man can invent will not keep back the flower. Allcreated things, animate and inanimate, have in them an uncontrollableimpulse which, in their spring, reverts with a holy retrospect to thegreat first principle of existence, the love of reproduction.
Yolanda's spring had come, and her heart was a flower with the sacredbloom. Being a woman, she loved it and cuddled it for the sake of thepain it brought, as a mother fondles a wayward child. Max, being a man,struggled against the joy that hurt him and, with a sympathy broadenough for two, feared the pain he might bring to Yolanda. So thisunresponsiveness in Max made him doubly attractive to the girl, who wasof 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 seatbeside her in the shade.
"I promised you I would not go," he responded, "and I would notwillingly break my word to any one, certainly not to you, Fraeulein."
"I was angry when I heard you had left the inn," she said, "and I spokeunkindly of you. There has been an ache in my heart ever since thatnothing but confession and remission will cure."
"I grant the remission gladly," answered Max. "There was flattery inyour anger."
The girl laughed softly and, clasping her hands over her knee, spokewith a sigh.
"I think women have the harder part of life in everything. I again askyou to promise me that you will not leave Peronne within a month."
"I cannot promise you that, Fraeulein," answered Max.
"You will some day--soon, perhaps--know my reasons," said Yolanda, "andif they do not prove good I am willing to forfeit your esteem. That isthe greatest hostage I can give."
"I cannot promise," answered Max, stubbornly.
"I offer you another inducement, one that will overmatch the smallweight of my poor wishes. I promise to bring you to meet this Mary ofBurgundy whom you came to woo. I cannot present you, but I will see thatTwonette brings about the meeting. I tell you, as I have already toldSir Karl, that it is said I resemble this princess, so you must notmistake her for me."
When Max told me of this offer I wondered if the girl had been testinghim, and a light dawned on me concerning her motives.
"I did not come to woo her," answered Max, "though she may have been apart of my reason for coming. I knew that she was affianced to theDauphin of France. Her beauty and goodness were known to me throughletters 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 Imay not speak, I esteemed her for a time above all women, though I hadnever seen her. I still esteem her, but--but the other is all past now,Fraeulein, and I do not wish to meet the princess, though the honor wouldbe far beyond my deserts."
"Why do you not wish to meet her?" asked Yolanda, with an air ofpleasure. Max hesitated, then answered bluntly:--
"Because I have met you, Fraeulein. You should not lead me to speak suchwords."
Yolanda touched Max's arm and said frankly:--
"There can be no harm, Max. If you knew all,--if I could tell youall,--you would understand. The words can harm neither of us." Shehesitated and, with drooping head, continued: "And they are to me as thesun and the south wind to the flowers and the corn. You already know allthat is in my heart, or I would not speak so plainly. In all my life Ihave 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 theflowers without the sun and the corn without the rain,--as if I will diefor lack of them. I am almost tempted to tell you all."
"Tell me all, Yolanda," entreated Max, "for I, too, have suffered fromthe same want, though my misfortune comes from being born to a highestate. If you but knew the lonely, corroding misery of those born to astation above the reach of real human sympathy, you would not envy, youwould pity them. You would be charitable to their sins, and would thankGod for your lowly lot in life. I will tell you my secret. I amMaximilian of Hapsburg."
"I have known it since the first day I saw you at Basel," answeredYolanda.
"I have felt sure at times that you did," responded Max, "though Icannot 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. Bep
atient with me. I do pity you. I do, I do. If we could help eachother--but we cannot, and there is no use longing for it. I sometimesfear that your attitude is the right one, and that it is best that weshould part and meet no more."
The proposition to part and meet no more was good in theory, but Maxfound that the suggestion to make a fact of it frightened him.
"Let us not speak of that now," he said. "The parting will come soonenough. You will surely deem me cold and unworthy, Fraeulein, but youcannot understand. One may not call a man hard and selfish who plucksout his eye for the sake of a God-imposed duty, or who deliberatelythrusts away happiness and accepts a life of misery and heartachebecause of the chains with which God bound him at his birth."
"Ah, I do understand, Max; I understand only too well," answered thegirl.
I have often wondered why Max did not suspect that Yolanda was thePrincess Mary; but when I considered that he had not my reasons to leadhim to that conclusion, I easily understood his blindness, for even Iwas unconvinced. Had I not overheard Castleman's conversation withYolanda on the road to Strasburg, after meeting De Rose, the suppositionthat the burgher girl travelling unattended with a merchant and hisdaughter could possibly be the Princess Mary would have been beyond thecredence of a sane man. The thought never would have occurred to me.Even with Castleman's words always ringing in my ears, I wasconstantly in doubt.
"There is no reason why one should deliberately hasten the day of one'sthralldom," said Yolanda, softly. "If one may be free and happy for anhour without breaking those terrible chains of God's welding, is he notfoolish to refuse the small benediction? The memory of it may sweetenthe years to come."
"To woman, such a memory is sweet," answered Max, striving to steel hisheart 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 thegirl, carried away by the swirling impulse of her heart.
"You will not need it," answered Max. "Your lot will be different frommine."
"Yes, it will be different, Max--it will be worse," she criedpassionately, almost in tears. "I think I shall kill myself when youleave Burgundy." She paused and turned fiercely upon him, "Give me thepromise I ask. I demand at least that consolation as my right--as a poorreturn for what you take from me."
Max gently took her hand, which was at once lost in his great clasp.
"Fraeulein, I will not leave Burgundy within a month, whatever theconsequences may be," he said tenderly.
"Upon your honor?" she asked, joyously clapping her hands.
"Every promise I make, Fraeulein, is on my honor," said Max, seriously.
"So it is, Little Max, so it is," she answered gently. Then they roseand 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 acorner of the arbor, her flaxen head embowered in a cluster of leavesand illumined by a stray beam of moonlight that stole between the vines.
"I am going in now. Come, Twonette," said Yolanda, shaking that plumpyoung lady to arouse her. "Come, Twonette."
Twonette slowly opened her big blue eyes, but she was slower inawakening.
"Twonette! Twonette!" cried Yolanda, pulling at the girl's hand. "Ideclare, if you don't resist this growing drowsiness you will go down inhistory as the 'Eighth Sleeper,' and will be left snoring onresurrection morn."
When Twonette had awakened sufficiently to walk, we started from thearbor to the house. As we passed from beneath the vines, the frowningwall of the castle and the dark forms of its huge towers, silhouetted inblack against the moon-lit sky, formed a picture of fierce and sombregloom 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 wewent 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 housefrom the castle. While we talked, the cavalcade of ladies and gentlementhat we had watched from Castleman's garden cantered up the street.
"You will now see the princess," said Hymbercourt. "She comes with theduke and the duchess. They left the castle at five, and have been ridingin the moonlight."
We stepped to one side of the street as the cavalcade passed, and Iasked Hymbercourt to point out the princess.
"She rides between the duke--the tall figure that you may recognize byhis long beard--and the page carrying a hooded falcon," he answered.
Surely this evidence should have put my mind at rest concerning myhallucination that Yolanda was Mary of Burgundy; but when we reachedthe inn and Max told me of his conversation with Yolanda the riddleagain sprang up like a jack-in-the-box. I felt that I was growing weakin mind. Yolanda's desire to tell Max her secret, and her refusal; herlonging for human sympathy, and the lack of it; her wish that he shouldremain in Peronne for a month--all these made me feel that she wasthe princess.
I could not help hoping that Hymbercourt was mistaken in pointing outHer Highness. She rode in the shadow of the buildings and the moon wasless than half full. Yolanda might have wished to deceive us by pointingout the princess while we watched the cavalcade from Castleman's garden.The burgher and Twonette might have been drawn into the plot against usby the impetuous will of this saucy little witch. Many things, Iimagined, had happened which would have appeared absurd to a saneman--but I was not sane. I wished to believe that Yolanda was theprincess, and I could not get the notion out of my head.
Yolanda's forwardness with Max, if she were Mary of Burgundy, couldeasily be explained on the ground that she was a princess, and wasentitled to speak her mind. I was sure she was a modest girl, therefore,if she were of lowly birth, she would have hesitated to speak so plainlyto Max. So, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, I refused tobe convinced that Yolanda was not Mademoiselle de Burgundy. I loved thethought so dearly that I could not and would not part with it. Thatnight, while I lay pondering over the riddle, I determined to do no moreguessing, and let the Fates solve it for me. They might give me theanswer soon if I would "give it up."
The next evening we went to Castleman's house, but we did not seeYolanda. Frau Kate said she was indisposed, and we ate supper withouther. It was a dull meal,--so much does a good appetite wait upon goodcompany,--and for the first time I realized fully the marvellous qualityof this girl's magic spell. Max, of course, was disappointed, and wewalked back to The Mitre in silence.