Yolanda’s spring had come, and her heart was a flower with the sacred bloom.  Being a woman, she loved it and cuddled it for the sake of the pain it brought, as a mother fondles a wayward child.  Max, being a man, struggled against the joy that hurt him and, with a sympathy broad enough for two, feared the pain he might bring to Yolanda.  So this unresponsiveness in Max made him doubly attractive to the girl, who was of the sort, whether royal or bourgeois, before whom men usually fall.

“I thought you had left me, Sir Max,” she said, drawing him to a seat beside her in the shade.

“I promised you I would not go,” he responded, “and I would not willingly break my word to any one, certainly not to you, Fraeulein.”

“I was angry when I heard you had left the inn,” she said, “and I spoke unkindly of you.  There has been an ache in my heart ever since that nothing but confession and remission will cure.”

“I grant the remission gladly,” answered Max.  “There was flattery in your anger.”

The girl laughed softly and, clasping her hands over her knee, spoke with a sigh.

“I think women have the harder part of life in everything.  I again ask you to promise me that you will not leave Peronne within a month.”

“I cannot promise you that, Fraeulein,” answered Max.

“You will some day—­soon, perhaps—­know my reasons,” said Yolanda, “and if they do not prove good I am willing to forfeit your esteem.  That is the greatest hostage I can give.”

“I cannot promise,” answered Max, stubbornly.

“I offer you another inducement, one that will overmatch the small weight of my poor wishes.  I promise to bring you to meet this Mary of Burgundy whom you came to woo.  I cannot present you, but I will see that Twonette brings about the meeting.  I tell you, as I have already told Sir Karl, that it is said I resemble this princess, so you must not mistake her for me.”

When Max told me of this offer I wondered if the girl had been testing him, and a light dawned on me concerning her motives.

“I did not come to woo her,” answered Max, “though she may have been a part of my reason for coming.  I knew that she was affianced to the Dauphin of France.  Her beauty and goodness were known to me through letters of my Lord d’Hymbercourt, written to my dear old friend Karl.  Because of certain transactions, of which you do not know and of which I may not speak, I esteemed her for a time above all women, though I had never seen her.  I still esteem her, but—­but the other is all past now, Fraeulein, and I do not wish to meet the princess, though the honor would be far beyond my deserts.”

“Why do you not wish to meet her?” asked Yolanda, with an air of pleasure.  Max hesitated, then answered bluntly:—­

“Because I have met you, Fraeulein.  You should not lead me to speak such words.”

Yolanda touched Max’s arm and said frankly:—­