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I longed ardently for Yolanda to come out of her skin, and my heart leaped with joy at the early prospect. I was right in my surmise. Yolanda's sweet face, radiant with smiles and soft with dimples, was pressed against the window-pane watching for us when we crossed the moat bridge at Castleman's door. "To see her face again is like coming back to heaven; isn't it, Karl?" said Max.
Meantime, of course, it is best that we do not know each other." After examining the missive for the twentieth time, Yolanda placed it in its pouch and turned to the duchess. "Take it, mother, to the iron box, and I will lead Sir Karl back to Uncle Castleman's," she said.
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.
My purpose in this writing is to tell the story of Sylvia Castleman's life, to show, not merely what she was, but what she became. I have to make real to you a process of growth in her soul, and at this moment the important event is her discovery of the class-struggle and her reaction to it.
But now it is best that you leave us to pursue our journey without you." Castleman's suggestion was most welcome to me, and I communicated it to Max when I returned to the inn. He was sorrowful; but I found that he, too, felt that he should part from Yolanda. Castleman barely touched his meat at supper, though he drank two bottles of Johannesburg; Max ate little, and I had no appetite whatever.
"I sincerely hope there may be no delay," I answered, believing that the papers were an invention of Castleman's. "Yes," responded the burgher; "and, Sir Karl, I deem it best for all concerned that you and Sir Max part company with us at Metz. I thank you for your services, and hope you will honor us by visiting Peronne at some future time.
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.
Awaiting Castleman's return, we remained housed up at The Mitre, seldom going farther abroad than Grote's garden save in the early morning or after dark. But despite our caution trouble befell us, as our burgher friend had predicted. Within a week Max began to go out after dark without asking me to accompany him. When he came into our room late one evening, I asked carelessly where he had been.
"Second, do not fail to come to my uncle's house when he invites you. His home is worthy to receive the grandest prince in the world. My my lord, Duke Philip the Good, was Uncle Castleman's dear friend. The old duke, when in Peronne, dined once a week with my uncle. Although uncle is a burgher, he could have been noble.
I was not sure of her motive in maintaining the alias, though I was certain it was more than a mere whim. How great it was I could not know. Should she persist in it I would help her up to the point of telling Max a downright falsehood. There I would stop. We spent two evenings at Castleman's, but did not see Yolanda. On the first evening, after an hour of listlessness, Max hesitatingly asked:
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