“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 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.  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 passive, 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! Now!  It will effectually keep Louis from allying with Bourbon and Lorraine, or some other prince, while I am away from home.  They all hate me, but not one of the cowards would say ‘Booh!’ unless the others were back of him.  A word from Louis would kindle rebellion in Liege and Ghent.  This war with Switzerland is what Louis has waited for; and when I march to the south, he will march into Burgundy from the west unless he has a counter motive.”

“That is but too true, my lord,” said Hymbercourt.

“But if my daughter marries the Dauphin, Louis will look upon Burgundy as the property of the French kingship in the end, and the marriage will frighten Bourbon and Lorraine to our feet once more.  This hypocrite, Louis, has concocted a fine scheme to absorb Burgundy into his realm by this marriage with my daughter.  But I’ll disappoint his greed.  I’ll whisper a secret in your ear, Hymbercourt,—­a secret to be told to no one else.  I’ll execute this treaty of marriage now, and will use my crafty foe for my own purposes so long as I need him; but when I return from Switzerland, I will divorce my present duchess and take a fruitful wife who will bear me a son to inherit Burgundy; then King Louis may keep the girl for his pains.”