"The most wonderful in the world," interrupted Max. "They are brilliant as priceless jewels, fathomless as deep water, gentle and tender as--"

"There, there, Little Max," she cried, checking with a gesture his flow of unexpected eloquence. "I declare! you are not so slow as you seem. I will tell you just how much of a sorceress I am. I thought to flatter you by saying a great lady had given you the ring, and lo, I was right unless you are adroitly leading me to believe in my own sorcery. Is she a great lady? Come, tell me the story."

She unconsciously moved nearer to him with an air of pleasant antic.i.p.ation.

"Yes, it was a great lady, a very great lady who gave me the ring," he said most seriously.

"And was I right in my other divination?" she asked, looking down and flushing slightly. "Did--did she wish to marry you? But you need not answer that question."

"I will gladly answer it," returned Max, leaning forward, resting his elbow on his knees and looking at the ground between his feet. "I hoped she did. I--I longed for it."

"Perhaps she possessed vast estates?" asked the girl, a slight frown gathering on her brow.

"Yes, she possessed vast estates," said Max, "but I would gladly have taken her penniless save for the fact that I am very poor, and that she would suffer for the lack of luxuries she has always known."

"But how could the lady have felt sure you were not seeking her for the sake of her estates?" asked Yolanda.

"She could not know," answered Max. "But I sought her for her own sake and for no other reason."

"What manner of person was she?" asked Yolanda. "Was she dark or light, short or tall, plain of feature or beautiful, amiable of temper or vixenish? Was she like any one you have ever seen?"

She spoke in deep earnest and looked eagerly up to his face.

"She was beautiful of feature," answered Max. "Her eyes and her hair were dark as yours are. She was short of stature, I have been told."

Yolanda laughed merrily: "I declare, Sir Max, you were in love with a lady you had never seen. It was her estate you loved."

"No, no," said Max, earnestly. "I ardently desired--"

"Perhaps if you were to see her, your enthusiasm would vanish," said Yolanda, interrupting him almost sharply. "My magic tells me she is a squat little creature, with a wizened face; her eyes are sharp and black, and her nose is a-peak, not unlike mine. That, she is sour and peevish of temper, as I am, there can be no doubt. And, although she be great and rich as the Princess of Burgundy, I warrant you she is not one whit handsomer nor kinder in disposition than I."

Max started on hearing Mary of Burgundy's name, but quickly recovering himself said:--

"I would not wish her better than you in any respect. You wrong both yourself and the lady to speak as you do. Those who know her say the lady has not her like in all the world."

A soft light came to Yolanda's face as he spoke, and she answered slowly:--

"Doubtless the lady had like news of you, and is curious to know what manner of man you are. She too may have dreamed of an ideal."

"How do you know she has never seen me?" asked Max, who had not fully caught her reply when she spoke of the fact that he had never seen the lady of the ring. "I shall surely come to believe you are a sorceress."

"No, I am not," she answered emphatically. "You shall carry that jest no further. A moment since you said those who know her say so and so, and you believed she was short of stature. Had you ever seen the lady, you would know if she were tall or short. You would not be in doubt upon so important a matter as the stature of your lady-love."

The reasoning and the reasoner were so irresistible that Max was easily satisfied.

"But you have spoken of the lady as in the past. I hope she is not dead?" asked Yolanda.

"No," answered Max, gravely, "our fathers did not agree. That is, her father was not satisfied, and it all came to nothing save a--a heartache for me."

It was well that Max was looking at the ground when she turned the soft radiance of her eyes upon him, else he might have learned too much. His modesty and honesty in admitting frankly that the lady's father was not satisfied with the match pleased her and she sat in silence, smiling contentedly. After a time she turned almost fiercely upon him:--

"Do you know what I should do, Sir Max, were I in your place?"

"What would you do, Fraulein?" queried Max.

"I would show the lady that I was worthy of her by winning her, even though she were on a throne, guarded by a thousand dragons. I am a woman, Sir Max, and I know a woman's heart. The heart of a princess is first the heart of a woman. Be sure the lady will thank you and will reward you if you fight your way to her and carry her off against all the world."

"But how is that to be done, Fraulein?" asked Max, carelessly. In truth, Mary of Burgundy was not uppermost in his heart at that moment.

"That is for a man to say and for a man to do," she responded. "A woman knows only how to wait and to long for one who, alas! may never come.

She will wait for you, Sir Max, and when you come to her, she will place her hand in yours and go with you wherever you wish to take her. Of this, at least, my powers of sorcery are sufficient to a.s.sure you. Do not fear! do not fear!"

She spoke earnestly, as if from the depths of a personal experience. Her eyes glowed with the light of excitement and her face was radiant. Max turned to her and saw all this beauty. Then he gently took her hand and said huskily:--

"If I thought she were like you, Fraulein, I would gladly go to the end of the world to win from her even one smile."

"No, no, Sir Max," said Yolanda, withdrawing her hand, "we must have no more such speeches from you. They are wrong coming from one of your degree to a burgher girl of Peronne, if she be an honest girl. Our stations are too far apart."

"That is true, Fraulein," answered Max, sorrowfully, "but I mean no disrespect. I honor you as if you were a princess"--here his tones took energy and emphasis--"but I meant what I said, Fraulein, I meant what I said, and though I shall never say it again, I know that I shall mean it all the days of my life."

The expression in her eyes as she looked up at him was one of mingled pleasure and amus.e.m.e.nt. It seemed to say, "Do not be too sure that you will never say it again," but she said nothing. After a moment she suggested:--

"Shall we return, Sir Max?" They rose, and as they started back to Basel he remarked:--

"The words 'Little Max' on your lips sounded sweet to me, Fraulein.

They bring home to me the voice of my mother, and though I should not care to hear another speak them, still, the words are very pretty on your lips, and I like them."

Yolanda glanced quickly up to him with radiant eyes. He caught the glance, and the last vestige of his ideal, Mary of Burgundy, left his heart, driven out by the very real little enchantress that walked by his side.

CHAPTER IV

DOWN THE RHINE TO BURGUNDY

Notwithstanding the idle, happy life we were leading, I was anxious to begin our journey to Burgundy. Just what would--or could--happen when we should reach that land of promise--perhaps I should say of no promise--I did not know. I hoped that by some happy turn of fortune--perhaps through Twonette's help--Max might be brought to meet Mary of Burgundy.

I had all faith in his ability to please her, or any woman, but what advantage he could gain by winning her regard I could not guess. The lady's personal preference would cut no figure in the choosing of a husband. Her father would do that for her, and she would be powerless against the will of a man whose chief impulses were those of a mad bull.

This arrogant duke, without so much as a formal withdrawal, had ignored Duke Frederick's acceptance and had contracted his daughter's hand to the Dauphin of France, who was a puny, weak-minded boy of fourteen.

Should Max and I go to Burgundy and say to Charles, "This is Maximilian of Styria, to whom you offered your daughter in marriage," his answer might be a sword thrust. Should the duke learn of our unbidden presence in his domain, his love for making enemies would probably bring us into trouble. Therefore, though I ardently wished to begin the journey, I had no real cause to hope for good results, though there were many reasons to fear the outcome of our adventures.

One may well ask why I continued in a course so dangerous. My answer is: A man travels the road of his destiny. The Fates sometimes hunt out a man for their purposes and s.n.a.t.c.h him from his hiding-place in the by-ways, but they usually choose from the scenes of great events their victims or their favorites. The man who fears to be their victim is seldom chosen for their favorite. I should rather be their victim than be overlooked; and what I should have chosen for myself I desired for Max. I had no future save in him; I had been overlooked in the by-ways.

At the time of our journeying all Europe turned on a Burgundian pivot, and the Fates were busy in that land. It was the stage of the world, on which the strong, the great, and the enterprising of mankind were playing; and I hoped that Max, who was strong and enterprising, would find his part in this Burgundian drama. I was willing to risk sacrificing him, though he was dearer to me than the blood of my heart, if I might stand even a small chance to make him great.

At strange variance with my philosophy, I had faith in Max's luck. It was more than faith; it was a fixed, intuitive conviction that he would win. For these reasons, all growing out of what I felt rather than what I reasoned, we continued our dangerous and apparently useless journey.

When a man feels himself led by an unseen hand, he should gladly follow.

There is an intuition that is better than reason.