"From a just cause, my lord," quickly retorted Max.

"I fear I have had the worst of this encounter, Hymbercourt," said the duke, smiling, "and I see nothing left for me but apology."

"I sincerely hope Your Grace will not embarra.s.s us by apologizing," said Max.

Charles hesitated, gave a short laugh, and apologized by placing his hand on Max's shoulder.

"Let us go into the little parley room," he said. "Hymbercourt, lead the way with Sir Max; Sir Karl and I will follow presently."

Max and Hymbercourt pa.s.sed out at a small door near the throne, and the duke turned to me:--

"I like the boy's modest boldness, and I hope that I may induce him and you to accompany me against the Swiss. I would not accept his offer made on the spur of the moment, but if, on talking it over with him, you make up your minds to come with me, I will make it well worth your while.

This war will be but a May-day outing. We'll speak on the subject again.

Meantime, I understand that you and Sir Max wish to remain incognito at Peronne?"

"We do, Your Grace," I responded. "I fear it will be impossible to accept the honor you have offered, but, as you have graciously said, we will, if you wish, speak of it again."

"I am content," said the duke. "Let us follow Hymbercourt."

CHAPTER XIV

SIR KARL MEETS THE PRINCESS

The duke and I pa.s.sed through the door by which Max and Hymbercourt had left the hall, and entered a narrow pa.s.sageway eight or ten yards long, having two doors at the farther end. The door to the right, I soon learned, led to the little parley room where Max and Hymbercourt had gone. The door to the left opened into a staircase that led to the apartments of the d.u.c.h.ess. A narrow flight of stone steps that led from the ladies' gallery opened into the pa.s.sage, and, just as the duke entered in advance of me, two ladies emerged from the stairs. They did not see me in the shadow, and supposed that the duke was alone. The taller, who I soon learned was the d.u.c.h.ess, hastened down the pa.s.sage and through the door leading to her apartments. The smaller I at once recognized. She was Yolanda.

"Father, you cannot mean to send me into France," she cried, trying to detain the duke. "Kill me, father, if you will, but do not send me to that hated land. I shall not survive this marriage a fortnight, and if I die, Burgundy will go to our cousin of Bourbon."

"Don't hinder me, daughter," returned the duke, impatiently. "Don't you see we are not alone?"

Yolanda turned in surprise toward me, and the duke said:--

"Go by the right door, Sir Karl. I will be with you at once. I wish to speak with the d.u.c.h.ess."

He hurriedly followed his wife and left me alone with Yolanda.

"Fraulein, my intrusion was unintentional," I stammered. "I followed the duke at his request."

"Fraulein!" exclaimed the girl, lifting her head and looking a very queen in miniature. "Fraulein! Do you know, sir, to whom you speak?"

"I beg your pardon, most gracious princess," I replied. "Did you not command me to address you as Fraulein or Yolanda?"

"My name, sir, is not Yolanda. You have made a sad mistake," said the princess, drawing herself up to her full height. Then I thought of Yolanda's words when she told me that she resembled the princess as one pea resembles another.

The girl trembled, and even in the dim light I could see the gleam of anger in her eyes. I was endeavoring to frame a suitable apology when she spoke again:--

"Fraulein! Yolanda! Sir, your courtesy is scant to give me these names.

I do not know you, and--did I not tell you that if you made this mistake with the princess you would not so easily correct it? That I--you--Blessed Virgin! I have betrayed myself. I knew I should. I knew I could not carry it out."

She covered her face with her hands and began to weep, speaking while she sobbed:--

"My troubles are more than I can bear."

I wished to rea.s.sure her at once:--

"Most Gracious Princess--Yolanda--your secret is safe with me. You are as dear to me as if you were my child. You have nestled in my heart and filled it as completely as one human being can fill the heart of another. I would gladly give my poor old life to make you happy. Now if you can make use of me, I am at your service."

"You will not tell Sir Max?" she sobbed.

She was no longer a princess. She was the child Yolanda.

"As I hope for salvation, no, I will not tell Sir Max," I responded.

"Sometime I will give you my reasons," she said.

"I wish none," I replied.

After a short pause, she went on, still weeping gently:--

"If I must go to France, Sir Karl, you may come there to be my Lord Chamberlain. Perhaps Max should not come, since I shall be the wife of another, and--and there would surely be trouble. Max should not come."

She stepped quickly to my side. Her hand fell, and she grasped mine for an instant under the folds of her cloak; then she ran from the pa.s.sage, and I went to the room where Max and Hymbercourt were waiting.

After a few moments the duke joined us. Wine was served, but Charles did not drink. On account of the excessive natural heat of his blood he drank nothing but water. His Grace was restless; and, although there was no lack of courtesy, I fancied he did not wish us to remain. So after our cups were emptied I asked permission to depart. The duke acquiesced by rising, and said, turning to Max:--

"May we not try our new hawk together this afternoon?"

"With pleasure, Your Grace," responded Max.

"Then we'll meet at Cambrai Gate near the hour of two," said the duke.

"I thank Your Grace," said Max, bowing.

On our way back to the inn, I told Max of my meeting with the princess, and remarked upon her resemblance to Yolanda.

"You imagined the resemblance, Karl. There can be but one Yolanda in the world," said Max. "Her Highness, perhaps, is of Yolanda's complexion and stature,--so Yolanda has told me,--and your imagination has furnished the rest."

"Perhaps that is true," said I, fearing that I had already spoken too freely.

So my great riddle was at last solved! The Fates had answered when I "gave it up." I was so athrill with the sweet a.s.surance 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. She knew that every marriageable prince in Europe coveted her wealth and her estates. The most natural desire that she or any girl could have would be to find a worthy man who would seek her for her own sake. As Yolanda, she offered no inducement save herself. The girl was playing a daring game, and a wise one.

True, there appeared to be no possibility that she could ever have Max for her husband, even should she win his heart as Yolanda. In view of the impending and apparently unavoidable French marriage, the future held no hope. But when her day of wretchedness should come, she would, through all her life, take comfort from the sweetest joy a woman can know--that the man she loved loved her because she was her own fair self, and for no other reason. There would, of course, be the sorrow of regret, but that is pa.s.sive, while the joy of memory is ever active.

When Max and I had departed, the duke turned to Hymbercourt and said:--

"The bishop's letter is not sufficiently direct. It is my desire to inform King Louis that this marriage shall take place at once--now!