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He did not tell me of Sir Max's home, but I supposed he also was from Italy, or perhaps from Würtemberg there are many Guelphs in that country." "Yes, I will tell you of that later, uncle," said Yolanda. "When Calli left us, Sir Max returned safely to the inn, having promised me not to leave Peronne within a month. This trouble has come from Calli and Campo-Basso."
"I surely do know," she responded, "else I would not speak so plainly. But answer me, Sir Max. Answer my question. It is my right to know upon what I may depend. Will you come back to me?" The imperious will of the princess had come to the rescue of Yolanda, the burgher girl. Max paused before speaking, then grasped her hands fiercely and answered:
Over and above his prowess, his cause, you know, is just, and for that reason God will be with him." "Yes, yes," sobbed Yolanda, "and the Virgin, too." The Virgin was a woman in whom she could find a woman's sympathy. She trusted God and stood in reverent awe of Him; but one could easily see that the Virgin held her heart and was her refuge in time of trouble.
But, uncle, now that you are at home, I want you to drink your wine quickly and give me a great deal of joy oh, a great deal." "Indeed I will, my dear. Tell me where to begin," answered Castleman, draining his goblet. Yolanda flushed rosily and hesitated. At that moment Twonette, who had already greeted her father, entered the room. "Twonette will tell you," said Yolanda, laughing nervously.
His words coming to the girl's ears, like a far-away sound, from the cavernous recesses of his helmet, frightened her. "No, no, my name is not Yolanda. You are mistaken. You do not know me. I I am the princess. You do not know me."
"Did you not bring one, my lord?" "Your Grace Your Grace," began the bishop, apologetically. "Do you think I am a snivelling scrivener, carrying quill and ink-well in my gown?" asked the duke. "Go to your parlor and fetch ink and quill," said Charles, pointing with the folded missive toward Yolanda. "A page will fetch the quill and ink, my lord," suggested the duchess.
Yolanda stood almost paralyzed with terror. Max was unarmed, but he seized Calli's wrist and twisted it till a small bone cracked, and the dagger fell from his hand to the ground. Calli's arm hung limp at his side, and he was powerless to do further injury. Max did not take advantage of his helplessness, but said: "Go, or I will twist your neck as I have broken your wrist."
On his desk was the inevitable picture of his wife framed in silver, a hand-illumined platitude of Stevenson, an elaborate set of desk paraphernalia in beaten brass that bore little evidence of service. In two green-glazed bowls of Japanese origin, roses from Mr. Flint's garden at Yolanda scattered faint pink petals on the Smyrna rug. These flowers were the only concession to esthetics that Mr.
Yolanda herself once told me I believe she has also told you that she has the honor to resemble the princess." I did not wish to lie to Max, and you will note that I did not say the princess was not Yolanda. Still, I wished him to remain ignorant upon the important question until Yolanda should see fit to enlighten him.
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.
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