CHAPTER VII
A RACE WITH THE DUKE
Neither road clung to the river in all its windings, but at too frequentintervals both touched the stream at the same points. At places theroads hugged the Somme, separated only by its width--perhaps two hundredyards. These would be our danger points. I did not know them, andYolanda's knowledge of the road was imperfect.
Soon after leaving Cinq Voies, the road on the right bank--the one takenby the duke--gained a mile over the road on the left by cutting across agreat bend in the river around which we had to travel. We therefore lostthe duke's cavalcade at the outset.
Hoping to pass the duke before the roads came again within sight of eachother, we urged our horses to full speed. But the duke also wastravelling rapidly, as we learned when we reached the first point ofcontact. Should the duke's men see us they would certainly hail. Fourmen in armor and two ladies, travelling the road to Peronne would not beallowed to pass unchallenged. Fortunately, just before the danger point,a clump of trees and underbushes grew between our road and the river.Max, who was riding a hundred yards in advance, suddenly stopped andheld up his hand warningly. We halted immediately, and Max turned backto us, guiding his horse to the roadside to avoid raising a dust-cloud.
We listened in silence, and I beckoned the squires to our sides. The menof our little party all dismounted and stood by their horses' heads,ready to strike the noses of the animals should they offer to salute thehorses across the river with a neigh. Had not our danger been so greatit would have been amusing to see each man, with uplifted hand, watchingthe eyes of his horse as intently as though they were the eyes of hislady-love. Yolanda laughed despite the danger, but covered her mouthwith her hand when I frowned warningly.
Presently we heard the tramping of horses and the voices of men acrossthe river, and soon the duke approached at a canter. I could not helpspeculating on the consequences should His Grace know that Yolanda waswatching him--if Yolanda were his daughter.
That "if" would surely be the death of me.
When the duke had passed a little way down the road, I peered throughthe bushes and saw the dust-cloud ahead of us.
We could not venture from our hiding-place till the duke was out ofsight, and by the delay we lost a good half-league in our race. I askedYolanda if she knew how far it was to the next point of contact, She didnot know, but I learned from a peasant that the river made a great bend,and that our road gained nearly a league over the other before eachagain touched the river. This was our great chance.
We put our horses to their best; and when we again reached the river,Max, who was riding in advance, announced that the other cavalcade wasnot in sight. If it had passed, our race was lost; if it had not, wefelt that we could easily ride into Peronne ahead of Duke Charles. Atthat point the roads followed the river within a stone's throw of eachother for a great distance. If the duke had not reached this point, ourneed for haste was greater than ever before. We must be beyond the openstretch before the other cavalcade should come up to it.
Our poor blown horses were loath to run, but we urged them to it. Whenwe had covered half this open road, we took to the sod at the roadsideto avoid raising a telltale cloud of dust. After a hard gallop wereached a forest where the road again left the river. Here we halted tobreathe our horses and to watch the road on the right bank. After tenminutes we became uneasy and began to fear that the duke's cavalcade hadpassed us, but Max insisted that our fears were groundless.
"Their dust could not have settled so quickly," he declared. "We shouldsee at least traces of it. They cannot have passed."
"One cannot help believing," said Yolanda, musingly, "that there are menwho command the elements. One would almost say they make the rain tofall or to cease, the wind to rise or to drop, to suit their purposes,and the dust to lie quietly beneath their horses' feet. I pray God wemay soon know, else I shall surely die of suspense."
"There are also some persons, Fraeulein, whom God answers quickly," saidMax, looking under his hand down the road. "Do you see yonderdust-cloud? It is a good two miles back of us."
"It may not be the duke," said Yolanda, doubtingly.
"Let us trust it is," said Max, "and lose no more time here."
We watered our horses at a small brook and entered the forest, feelingthat our race was won. The exultation of victory was upon Yolanda, andher buoyant spirits mounted to the skies. All fear and gloom had lefther. She laughed and sang, and the sunshine of her humor filled all ourhearts with delight. Since leaving Metz we had travelled so rapidly, anda cloud of uncertainty and fear was so constantly over us, that Yolandahad spoken little to Max or to any one; but now that victory was in hergrasp, she intended to waste not one moment more in troubled thoughtsand painful fears.
"Ride beside me, Sir Max," she cried, beckoning him as if she were agreat princess and he her page. Max spurred his horse to her side, andafter a moment Twonette fell back with me. I overheard all that was saidbetween Max and Yolanda, and though I do not pretend to quoteaccurately, I will give you the substance of their conversation.
"I cannot help laughing," she said, suiting the action to the word,"over our tragic parting at Metz. We were separated a whole day!"
"But we supposed it was to be for a very long time," said Max. "We--thatis, I--feared I should never see you again. As it was, the day seemedlong to me, Fraeulein."
The girl laughed joyously. She had, you remember, offered Max to theVirgin at Strasburg. Perhaps part of her joy was because the Queen ofHeaven had returned him to her.
"I should like to try a separation for many days," she said.
"You will soon have the opportunity," returned Max, with wounded vanity.She paid no heed to his remark, and continued:--
"The second day would not seem so long to you. The third would be stillshorter, and at the end of a fortnight--nay, at the end of a week--youwould wonder how you were ever brought to fix your eyes on a poorburgher girl, even for a passing moment--you, a great lord. You see, Ihave no vast estates to hold you constant, such as those possessed bythe forward lady who sent you the letter and the ring. Do you know, SirMax, if I were very fond of you,--if I were your sweetheart,--I shouldbe jealous of this brazen lady, very jealous."
There was a glint in her eyes that might have caused one to believe thejealousy already existed.
"Your raillery ill becomes you," said Max, half sullenly. "If I forgetmy rank and hold it of small account for your sake, you should not makea jest of it."
You see, he had not entirely washed out of himself the ceremoniousstarch of Hapsburg.
She glanced quickly toward him and answered poutingly:--
"If you don't like my jesting, Sir Max, you may leave me to ride alone."
"You asked me to ride with you," returned Max, "but if you have changedyour mind and insist on being ill-tempered, I will--"
She reached out her hand, and, grasping his bridle-reins, threw themover the pommel of her saddle.
"Now let me see what you will do, my great Lord Somebody," she crieddefiantly. "You shall not only ride beside me, but you shall alsolisten good-humoredly to my jests when I am pleased to make them, andbear with my ill-humor when I am pleased to be ill-humored."
Max left the bridle-reins in her hand, but did not smile. She was not tobe driven from her mood.
"You are such a serious person, Sir Max, that you must, at times, feelyourself a great weight--almost burdensome--to carry about." Shelaughed, though his resentment had piqued her, and there was a dash ofanger in her words. "Ponderous persons are often ridiculous and are aptto tire themselves with their own weight--no, Sir Max, you can't getaway. I have your reins."
"I can dismount," returned Max, "and leave you my horse to lead."
He turned to leave his saddle, but she caught his arm, rode close to hisside, and, slipping her hand down his sleeve, clasped his hand--if ahand so small as hers can be said to clasp one so large as his.
A beautiful woman is born with a latent consciousness of her powe
r overthe subjugated sex. Max found in the soft touch of the girl's hand awonderful antidote to her sharp words. She continued to hold his hand ascompensation while she said, laughing nervously:--
"Sir Max, you are still young. A friend would advise you: Never lose achance to laugh, even though it be at your own expense. There willalways be opportunity to grieve and be gloomy. I tell you frankly, SirMax, I almost wept when I bade you good-by at Metz. Now, I am tellingyou my state secret and am giving you more than you have asked."
Max joyfully interrupted her:--
"I can forgive you all your raillery, Fraeulein, for that admission."
"Yes, I confess it is a very important admission," she said, inhalf-comic seriousness, "but you see, I really did weep when I partedfrom my great mastiff, Caesar, at Peronne."
The saucy turn was made so quickly that its humor took Max unawares, andhe laughed.
"There, there! Sir Max, there is hope for you," she cried exultantly.Then she continued, stealing a side glance at him, "I loved Caesar very,very much."
There was a satisfying implication in her laughing words, owing to thefact that she had almost wept at Metz. Max was eager to take advantageof the opportunity her words gave him, for his caution was rapidlyoozing away; but he had placed a seal on his lips, and they wereshut--at least, for the time. His silence needed no explanation toYolanda, and she continued laughingly:--
"Yes, I almost wept. Perhaps I did weep. I will not say truly that I didnot, Sir Max, but within an hour I was laughing at my foolish self andfeared that you, too, would be laughing at me. I wondered if in all theworld there was another burgher maiden so great a fool as to lift hereyes to a mighty lord, or to think that he could lower his eyes to herwith true intent."
At that point in the conversation I felt that the seal upon Max's lipswould not stand another attack. It was sure to melt; so I rode toYolanda's side and interrupted the interesting colloquy.
Max supposed the girl to be of the burgher class, and if by any chanceshe were Mary of Burgundy, he might ruin his future, should he becometoo insistent upon his rank in explaining the reasons why he could notfollow the path of his inclinations. He might make himself ridiculous;and that mistake will ruin a man with any woman, especially if she beyoung and much inclined to laugh.
During the foregoing conversation we had been travelling at a six-milecanter. The day was warm, and I suggested breathing the horses in theshade of the forest.
"I believe we are approaching the river," I said, "and we should restthe horses before taking a dash over the open road."
Yolanda assented--in a manner she seemed to have taken command of theparty--and we halted under the trees. Max rode forward to a point fromwhich he could view the other road, and waved his hand to let us knowthat the duke was not in sight. We immediately put spurs to our horsesand covered the stretch of open road by the river in a short, briskgallop. On leaving the road again we saw no indication of the duke'scavalcade. Evidently the race was ours by an easy canter. From thatpoint to within two miles of Peronne, Yolanda's song was as joyous asthat of a wooing bird. The sun beat down upon us, and blinding clouds ofdust rose from every plunge of our horses' hoofs; but Yolanda's songtransformed our hot, wearisome journey into a triumphant march.Happiness seemed to radiate from her and to furnish joy for all.
For a stretch of two miles up river from Peronne the roads approachedeach other, but, owing to an intervening marsh, they were fully half amile apart. We, or at least Yolanda, had apparently forgotten the dukewhen, near the hour of eight in the morning, we approached the marsh;but when we entered the open country we saw, to our consternation, theduke's cavalcade within one mile of Peronne. Where they had passed us wedid not know, nor did we stop to consider. They were five minutes ahead,and if we could not enter Peronne in advance of them, it were no worsehad they been a day before us.
Yolanda cast one frightened glance toward the duke's party, and struckher horse a blow with her whip that sent it bounding forward at afurious gallop. We reached the river and were crossing as the dukeentered Cambrai Gate--the north entrance to the city. We would enter bythe gate on the south known as the Somme Gate; Cambrai Gate was nearerthe castle.
The duke, I supposed, would go directly to the castle; where Yolandawould go I could not guess. From outside the Somme Gate we saw the dukeenter Cambrai, but after we had passed under the arch we could not seehim for a time because of intervening houses. The huge, grim pile ofstone known as Peronne Castle loomed ominously on the opposite side ofthe small town. Yolanda veiled herself before passing under the gate andhastened, though without conspicuous speed, toward the castle.
I afterward learned that there was but one entrance to the castle fromthe town. It was known as the Postern, though it had a portcullis and adrawbridge spanning the moat. To the Postern the duke took his way, aswe could see at intervals by looking down cross streets. Yolanda did notfollow him. She held her course down a narrow street flanked byoverhanging eaves. Looking down this street, I could see that itterminated abruptly at the castle wall, which rose dark and unbrokensixty feet above the ground.
At the end of this street a stone footbridge spanned the moat, leadingto a strip of ground perhaps one hundred yards broad and two hundredlong that lay between the moat and the castle wall. At either end ofthis strip the moat again turned to the castle. The Cologne River joinedthe moat at the north end of this tract of ground and flowed on by thecastle wall to the Somme. In a grove of trees stood a large two-storyhouse of time-darkened stone, built against the castle wall. One couldnot leave the strip of ground save by the stone footbridge, unless byswimming the moat or scaling the walls.
When we reached the footbridge, Yolanda and Twonette, without a word offarewell, urged their horses across, and, springing from their saddles,hurriedly entered the house. Max and I turned our horses' heads, and, aswe were leaving the footbridge, saw the duke's cavalcade enter thePostern, which was perhaps three hundred yards back and north of thestrip on which stood the House under the Wall.
To reach the Postern in the castle wall from the footbridge one must gowell up into the town and cross the great bridge that spans the Cologne;then back along the north bank of the river by the street that leads tothe Postern. From the House under the Wall to the Postern, by way of theCologne bridge, is a half-hour's walk, though in a direct line, as thecrow flies, it may be less than three hundred yards. Neither Max nor Iknew whether our journey had been a success or a failure.
We rode leisurely back to the centre of the town, and asked a carter todirect us to Marcus Grote's inn, The Mitre. We soon found it, and gavemine host the letter that we bore from Castleman. Although the hour ofnine in the morning had not yet struck, Max and I eagerly sought ourbeds, and did not rise till late in the afternoon. The next morning wedismissed our squires, fearing they might talk. We paid the men, gavethem each a horse, and saw them well on their road back to Switzerland.They were Swiss lads, and could not take themselves out of Burgundy fastenough to keep pace with their desires.
Notwithstanding Castleman's admonition, Max determined to remain inPeronne; not for the sake of Mary the princess, but for the smile ofYolanda the burgher girl. I well knew that opposition would availnothing, and was quite willing to be led by the unseen hand of fate.
The evening of the second day after our arrival I walked out at dusk andby accident met my friend, the Sieur d'Hymbercourt. He it was to whom myletters concerning Max had been written, and who had been responsiblefor the offer of Mary's hand. He recognized me before I could avoid him,so I offered my hand and he gave me kindly welcome.
"By what good fortune are you here, Sir Karl?" he asked.
"I cannot tell," I answered, "whether it be good or evil fortune thatbrings me. I deem it right to tell you that I am here with my youngpupil, the Count of Hapsburg."
Hymbercourt whistled his astonishment.
"We are out to see a little of the world, and I need not tell you howimportant it is that we remain unknown while in Burgundy. I bear
my ownname; the young count has assumed the name of his mother's family andwishes to be known as Sir Maximilian du Guelph."
"I shall not mention your presence even to my wife," he replied. "Iadvise you not to remain in Burgundy. The duke takes it for granted thatStyria will aid the Swiss, or at least will sympathize with them in thisbrewing war, and I should fear for your safety were he to discover you."
"I understand the duke recently arrived in Peronne?" I asked.
"Yes," answered Hymbercourt, "we all came yesterday morning."
"How is the fair princess? Did she come with you?" I asked, fearing tohear his reply.
"She is well, and more beautiful than ever before," he answered. "Shedid not come with us from Ghent; she has been here at the castle withher stepmother, the Duchess Margaret. They have lived here during thelast two or three years. The princess met her father just inside thePostern, lovely and fresh as a dew-dipped rose."
"She met her father just inside the Postern?" I asked, slowly droppingmy words in astonishment. "She was in the castle yard when her fatherentered,--and at the Postern?"
"Yes, she took his hand and sprang to a seat behind him," answeredHymbercourt.
"She met him inside the Postern, say you?" I repeated musingly.
"What is there amazing about so small an act?" asked Hymbercourt. "Is itnot natural that she should greet her father whom she has not seen fora year?"
"Indeed, yes," I replied stumblingly, "but the weather is very hot,and--and I was thinking how much I should have enjoyed witnessing themeeting. She doubtless was dressed in gala attire for so rare anoccasion?" I asked, wishing to talk upon the subject that touched me sonearly. Yolanda was in short skirts, stained and travel-worn, whenshe left us.
"Indeed she was," answered Hymbercourt. "I can easily describe herdress. She loves woman's finery, and I must confess that I too love it.She wore a hawking costume; a cap of crimson--I think it wasvelvet--with little knots on it and gems scattered here and there. Aheron's plume clasped with a diamond brooch adorned the cap. Her hairhung over her shoulders. It is very dark and falls in a great bush offluffy curls. When her headgear is off, her hair looks like a blackcorona. She is wonderfully beautiful, wonderfully beautiful. Her gownwas of red stuff. Perhaps it was of velvet like the cap. It was hitchedup with a cord and girdle, with tassels of gold lace and--and--Sir Karl,you are not listening."
"I am listening," I replied. "I am greatly interested. Her gown--shewore a gown--she wore a gown--"
"Yes, of course she wore a gown," laughingly retorted Hymbercourt. "Yourlagging attention is what I deserve, Sir Karl, for trying in my lamefashion to describe a woman's gear to a man who is half priest, halfwarrior. I do not wonder that you did not follow me."
I had heard him, but there was another question dinning in my ears soloudly that it drowned all other sounds--"Who is Yolanda?"
Yolanda was entering the door of the House under the Wall less than fiveminutes before I saw the duke pass through the Postern. Marcus Grote hadtold me there were but two openings to the castle, the Postern and thegreat gate on the other side of the castle by the donjon keep. To reachthe great gate one must pass out by Cambrai or the Somme Gate and goaround the city walls--an hour's journey.
With an air of carelessness I asked Hymbercourt concerning the variousentrances to the castle. He confirmed what Grote had said. Consideringall the facts, I was forced to this conclusion: If the Princess Mary hadmet the duke at the Postern, Yolanda was not the Princess Mary.
The next day I reconnoitred the premises, and again reached theconclusion that Yolanda could not have met the duke inside the Posternunless she were a witch with wings that could fly thither over thecastle walls; ergo, she was not the princess. With equal certainty shewas not a burgher girl.
In seeking an identity that would fit her I groped among many absurdpropositions. Yolanda might be the duke's ward, or she might be hisdaughter, though not bearing his name. My brain was in a whirl. If shewere the princess, I wished to remain in Peronne to pursue the smalladvantage Max had assuredly gained in winning her favor. The Frenchmarriage might miscarry. But if she were not the princess, I could notget my Prince Max away from her dangerous neighborhood too quickly. Icould not, of course, say to Max, "You shall remain in Peronne," or "Youshall leave Peronne at once;" but my influence over him was great, andhe trusted my fidelity, my love, and my ability to advise him rightly. Ihad always given my advice carefully, but, above all, I had given himthe only pleasurable moments he had ever known. That, by the way, mayhave been the greatest good I could have offered him.
When Max was a child, the pleasure of his amusements was smothered byofficialism. My old Lord Aurbach, though gouty and stiff of joint, waseager to "run" his balls or his arrows, and old Sir Giles Butch could becaught so easily at tag or blind man's buff that there was no sport forMax in doing it. Everything the boy did was done by the heir of Styria,except on rare occasions when he and I stole away from the castle. Thenwe were boys together, and then it was I earned his love and confidence.At such times we used to leave the Hapsburg ancestry to care for itselfand dumped Hapsburg dignity into the moat. But the crowning good I hadbrought to him was this journey into the world. The boy loathed theclinging dignities that made of him, at home, a royal automaton, trickedout in tarnished gold lace, faded velvets, and pompous airs. He oftenspoke of the pleasures I had given him. One evening at Grote's inn Ianswered:--
"Nonsense, Max, nonsense," though I was so pleased with his gratitude Icould have wept.
"It is not nonsense. You have saved me from becoming a mummy. I see itall, Karl, and shudder to think of the life that might have been mine. Itake no pleasure in seeing gouty old dependents bowing, kneeling, andsmirking before me. Of course, these things are my prerogative, and aman born to them may not forego what is due to his birth even though itirks him. But such an existence--I will not call it living--saps thejuice of life. Even dear old mother is compelled to suppress her lovefor me. Often she has pressed me to her breast only to thrust me away atthe approach of footsteps. By the way, Karl," continued Max, whilepreparing for bed, "Yolanda one day at Basel jestingly called me'Little Max.'"
"The devil she did," I exclaimed, unable to restrain my words.
"Yes," answered Max, "and when in surprise I told her that it was mymother's love-name for me, she laughed saucily, 'Yes, I know it is.'"
"The dev-- Max, you can't mean what you say?" I cried, in an ecstasy ofdelight over the news he was telling me.
"Indeed I do," he returned. "I told her I loved the name as a sweetreminder of my mother."
"What did she say?" I asked.
"She seemed pleased and flashed her eyes on me--you know the way shehas--and said: 'I, too, like the name. It fits you so well--bycontraries.' Where could she have learned it, and how could she haveknown it was my mother's love-name for me?"
"I cannot tell," I answered.
So! here was a small fact suddenly grown big, since, despite allevidence to the contrary, it brought me back to my old belief that thisfair, laughing Yolanda was none other than the great Princess ofBurgundy. I was sure that she had gained all her information concerningMax from my letters to Hymbercourt.
It racks a man's brain to play shuttlecock with it in that fashion.While I lay in bed trying to sleep, I thought of the meeting between theduke and the princess at the Postern, and back again flew my mind to theconviction that Yolanda was not, and could not possibly be, the PrincessMary. For days I had been able to think on no other subject. One momentshe was Yolanda; the next she was the princess; and the next I did notknow who she was. Surely the riddle would drive me mad. The fate ofnations--but, infinitely more important to me, the fate of Max--dependedupon its solution.
Castleman had told us to remain at the inn until his return, and hadexacted from Max, as you will remember, a promise not to visit the Houseunder the Wall, which we had learned was the home of our burgher friend.We therefore spent our days and evenings in Grote's garden near thebanks of the river C
ologne.
One afternoon, while we were sitting at a table sipping wine under theshade of a tree near the river bank, Max said:--
"I have enjoyed every day of our journey, Karl. I have learned the greatlesson of life, and am now ready to go back to Styria and take up myburden. We must see our friends and say farewell to them. Then--"
"You forget the object of our journey to Burgundy," I answered.
"No, I have not forgotten it," he replied. "I had abandoned it evenbefore I heard of the impending French marriage."
"Not with my consent, Max," I answered almost fiercely. "The princess isnot yet married, and no one can foresee the outcome of these presentcomplications into which the duke is plunging. We could not have reachedBurgundy at a more auspicious time. God's hand seems to have been in ourventure. If evil befall the duke, there will be an open gate for you,Max,--a gate opened by fate."
I could not, by my utmost effort, force myself entirely away from thebelief that Yolanda was the princess, and I was near to telling Max ofmy suspicions; but doubt came before my words, and I remained silent.Before many days I was glad of my caution.
"I knew," said Max, "that I would pain you, Karl, by this determinationto return to Styria without so much as an effort to do--to do what we--what you wished; but it must be as I say. I must leave Burgundy and goback to my strait-jacket. I have lived my life, Karl, I have had myportion of sweet joy and sweeter pain. The pain will give me joy as longas I live. Now for my duty to my father, my house, and my ancestors."
"But your duty to all these lies here in Peronne," I answered, almoststifled by the stupendous import of the moment.
"I suppose you are right," sighed Max, speaking gently, though withdecision. "But that duty I'll shirk, and try to make amends in otherways. I shall never marry. That, Karl, you may depend upon. Styria maygo at my death to Albert of Austria, or to his issue."
"No, no! Max," I cried. He ignored my interruption.
"Along with the countless duties that fall to the lot of a prince are afew that one owes to himself as a man. There are some sacrifices a manhas no right to inflict upon himself, even for the sake of his family,his ancestors, or his state." He paused for the space of a minute, and,dropping his words slowly, continued in a low voice vibrant withemotion: "There is but one woman, Karl, whom I may marry with God'spleasure. Her, I may not even think upon; she is as far from me as ifshe were dead. I must sacrifice her for the sake of the obligations andconditions into which I was born; but--" here he hesitated, rose slowlyto his feet, and lifted his hands above his head, "but I swear beforethe good God, who, in His wisdom, inflicted the curse of my birth uponme, that I will marry no other woman than this, let the result bewhat it may."
He sank back into the chair and fell forward on the table, burying hisface in his arms. His heart for the moment was stronger than hisresolution.
"That question is settled," thought I. No power save that of the Popecould absolve the boy from his oath, and I knew that the power of tenscore of popes could not move him from its complete fulfilment. The oathof Maximilian of Hapsburg, whose heart had never coined a lie, was aseverlasting as the rocks of his native land and, like Styria's mountainpeaks, pierced the dome of heaven.
If Yolanda were not the princess, our journeying to Burgundy had been invain, and our sojourn in Peronne was useless and perilous. It could notbe brought to a close too quickly. But (the question mark seems at timesto be the greatest part of life) if Yolanda were Mary of Burgundy, Maxhad, beyond doubt, already won the lady's favor, unless she were awanton snare for every man's feet. That hypothesis I did not entertainfor a moment. I knew little of womankind, but my limited knowledge toldme that Yolanda was true. Her heart was full of laughter,--a rare, richheritage,--and she was little inclined to look on the serious side oflife if she could avoid it; but beneath all there was a real Yolanda,with a great, tender heart and a shrewd, helpful brain. She was somewhatof a coquette, but coquetry salts a woman and gives her relish. It hadbeen a grievous waste on the part of Providence to give to any girl sucheyes as Yolanda's and to withhold from her a modicum of coquetry withwhich to use them. Taken all in all, Yolanda, whoever she was, wouldgrace any station in life. But if she were not the princess, I would bewilling to give my life--nay, more, I would almost be willing to takehers--rather than see her marry Maximilian of Hapsburg. Happiness couldnot come from such a union.
Should Max marry a burgher girl, his father and mother would never lookupon his face again. It would alienate his subjects, humble his house,and bring him to the level of the meanest noble on the Danube. To allthese dire consequences Max was quite as wide awake as I. He had nointention of bringing them upon his house, though for himself he wouldhave welcomed them. So I felt little uneasiness; but when a great lovelays hold upon a great heart, no man may know the outcome.
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