The girl’s passionate outburst was sincere, and showed me her true motive for deceiving Max.  Her plan was not the outgrowth of a whim; it was the result of a tremendous motive conceived in the depths of her soul.  She had found the man she loved, and was taking her own way to win him, if she could, for herself.  She judged all men by the standard that she had just announced.  She would never believe in the love of a man who should woo her as Princess Mary of Burgundy.

Her words came near accomplishing more than she desired.  When she stopped speaking, Max leaned forward and gently took her hand.

“Yolanda, this princess is nothing to me, and I swear to you that I will never ask her to marry—­”

A frightened gleam came to the girl’s eyes when she understood the oath that Max was about to take, and she quickly placed her hand over his mouth.  Max was swearing too much.

“You shall not make that oath, Little Max,” she said.  “You shall not say that you will never marry her, nor shall you say that you will never marry any one else.  You must remain free to choose the right wife when the right time comes.  You must tread the path that God has marked out for you.  Perhaps it leads to this princess; no one can tell.  If so, you must accept your fate, Sir Max.”  She sighed at the mere thought of so untoward a fate for Max.

“I need make no oath not to marry the princess,” answered Max.  “She is beyond my reach, even though I were dying for love of her.”

“And you are not dying for love of her, are you?” asked Yolanda, again taking the seat between Max and me.

“No,” he responded.

“Nor for love of any woman?” she asked, looking toward Max.

“I’ll not say that,” he replied, laughing softly, and taking her hands between his.

“No, no,” she mused, looking in revery out the window.  “No, we will not say that.”

I have always been as unsentimental as a man well can be, but I believe, had I been in Max’s place, I should have thrown away my crown for the sake of Yolanda, the burgher girl.  I remember wondering if Max would be strong enough finally to reach the same conclusion.  If he should be, my faith in Yolanda’s powers led me to believe that she would contrive a plan to make him her husband, despite her father, or the devil and all his imps.

There is a power of finesse in the feminine mind that no man may fully compass, and Yolanda, in that respect, was the flower of her sex.  That she had been able to maintain her humble personality with Max, despite the fact that she had been compelled to meet him twice as princess, proved her ability.  Of course, she had the help of good old Castleman and his sweet Frau Kate, serene Twonette, and myself; but with all this help she probably would have failed without the stairway in the wall.

When we left Castleman’s, I did not bring up the subject of Mary and Yolanda.  Max walked silently beside me until we had nearly reached the inn, when he said:—­