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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.
That evening Max told me much of Yolanda's conversation. The road we were travelling clung to the Rhine for several leagues. In many places it was cut from the bank at the water's edge. At others it ran along the brink of beetling precipices. At one of these Max guided his horse close to the brink, and, leaning over in his saddle, looked down the dizzy heights to the river below.
The shutter in the ladies' gallery was ajar and I caught a glimpse of Yolanda's pale, tear-stained face as she looked down upon the man she loved, who was to put his life in peril to avenge her wrong. "We are wasting time, Count Calli," spoke the duke. "Take up the gage or demand a court. The charge made by Sir Max will certainly justify a court of chivalry in ordering the combat.
Twonette and her father had gone to the lists when we reached the House under the Wall, but Yolanda and Frau Kate were awaiting us. There was a brief greeting and a hurried parting tearful on Yolanda's part. Then we rode around to the Postern and entered the courtyard of the castle.
"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.
She was somewhat of a coquette, but coquetry salts a woman and gives her relish. It had been a grievous waste on the part of Providence to give to any girl such eyes as Yolanda's and to withhold from her a modicum of coquetry with which to use them. Taken all in all, Yolanda, whoever she was, would grace any station in life.
In eastern Europe, where we were not blinded by neighborly hatred and local jealousies, the truth of Yolanda's statement had long been apparent. We carried our prophecy further and predicted that the headlong passions of Charles the Rash would soon result in his death or overthrow.
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