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Updated: May 28, 2025
By that time the duke's fury was beyond all measure, and he stooped to drag his wife from Yolanda that he might vent his wrath upon the sobbing girl. The duchess, who was a young, strong woman, sprang to her feet and placed herself between Yolanda, lying on the floor, and the infuriated duke. "You shall not touch the child, my lord!" cried the duchess.
That the princess should be abroad with Castleman and his daughter unattended by even a lady-in-waiting seemed improbable almost impossible. My wavering mind veered with each moment from the conviction that Yolanda was the princess to a feeling of certainty that she was not, and back again.
"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 was frightened at the sight of her pale face and cried out: "Yolanda! Yolanda!" Margaret quickly brought a small goblet of wine, and I held the princess while I opened her lips and poured a portion of the drink into her mouth. I had in my life seen, without a tremor, hundreds of men killed, but I had never seen a woman faint, and the sight almost unmanned me.
Yolanda laughed, and the burgher, pinching his wife's red cheek, protested: "You frown? You couldn't frown if you tried. A clear sky may rain as easily. Get the peering glass, Yolanda, and find, if you can, a wrinkle on her face." Yolanda, who was always laughing, threw herself upon the frau's lap and pretended to hunt for wrinkles. Soon she reported:
When we had grown more composed, Yolanda explained to me her hopes regarding the French king's answer to the altered missive, and the whole marvellous possibilities of the letter "t" dawned upon my mind. The princess bent over the parchment, watching our mighty "t" while the ink was drying, but the process was too slow for her, so she filled her cheeks and breathed upon the writing.
I was so athrill with the sweet assurance that Yolanda was the princess that I feared my secret would leap from my eyes or spring unbidden from my lips. I cast about in my mind for Yolanda's reasons in wishing to remain Yolanda to Max, and I could find none save the desire to win his heart as a burgher girl. That, indeed, would be a triumph.
"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:
"There is little knowledge in doubt," said Yolanda, with a nervous laugh, "though a doubt usually precedes wisdom." Although I was looking at my horse's ears, I could see the light of her eyes as she watched me inquiringly. After a long pause she stroked her horse's mane with her whip, and said, musingly: "A man should seek to know only the languages, philosophy, and other useful learning.
"So you are from Italy, Sir Max?" queried Yolanda, stealing a glance at his ring. "Yes," returned Max. "From what part, may I ask?" continued the girl, with a slight inclination of her head to one side and a flash from beneath the preposterously long lashes toward his hand. "From from Rome," stammered Max, halting at even so small a lie.
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