“Which shall it be, Sir Max, Yolanda or the princess?”

“Yolanda,” cried Max, huskily, while he held out his hands to her.  Quick as the movement of a kitten, she sprang to him and allowed his arms to close about her for one brief moment.  While one might count ten she rested her head on his breast, but all too quickly she turned her face to his and whispered:—­

“Are you sure?  Is it Yolanda?”

“Yes, yes, Yolanda.  Thank God! it is Yolanda,” he replied, placing his hand before his eyes.  She slipped from his arms, and Max, too deeply moved to speak, walked over to the window and looked out upon the frowning walls of Peronne the Impregnable.  There was irony for you!

Probably Max was not sure that Yolanda was Yolanda; but, if he was, conviction had come through his emotions, and it might be temporary.  He was, however, soon to be convinced by evidence so cunningly constructed that he was compelled to abandon the testimony of his own eyes and accept that of seemingly incontestable facts.

“We are to dine privately with the duke at twelve o’clock,” I said, while Max was standing at the window.

“Indeed?” asked Yolanda, arching her eyebrows; surprise and displeasure evident in her voice.  She glanced at the great clock, then looked toward Max, and said:—­

“It lacks but thirty minutes of that time now, and I suppose I shall soon lose you.”

Max turned from the window, saying:—­“Yes, we must go, or we shall be late.”

“Does the princess dine with you?” asked Yolanda.

“I do not know, Fraeulein,” answered Max.  Thereupon Yolanda left the room pouting, and we took our departure, having promised to return to Castleman’s after dinner.

We went at once to the castle; and thirty minutes after leaving Castleman’s we were in the small parlor or talking room of Duchess Margaret, where the famous letter to the king of France had been signed by Duke Charles.  When we entered we saw the duchess and the princess sitting upon the divan.  The duke was in his great oak chair, and Hymbercourt and two other gentlemen were standing near by.  I made obeisance to Charles on bended knee.  He rose to receive Max, and, after a slight hesitation, offered his hand, saying:—­

“You are welcome, my Lord Count.”

A year had passed since I had heard Max addressed as “my lord,” and the words sounded strange to my ears.  I turned quickly toward the princess, expecting to see a sparkle of mirth in her eyes, but Yolanda’s ever present smile was wholly lacking.  The countenance of the princess was calm, immovable, and expressionless as a mirror.  I could hardly believe that it was the radiant, bedimpled, pouting face I had just seen at Castleman’s, and for the first time in all my experience I realized that I was face to face with a dual personality.  The transformation was so complete that I might easily have been duped had I not known beyond peradventure the identity of Yolanda and Mary.