“Now, place in my hand some jewel or valued article of which I may speak,” she said.

Excepting his sword and dagger, Max owned but one article of value—­the ring Mary of Burgundy had given him.  He hesitatingly drew it from his finger and placed it in the girl’s hand.  She examined it carefully, and said:—­

“Now, give me your hand, Sir Max.”  Her hand was not much larger than a big snowflake in early spring, Max thought, and it was completely lost to sight when his great fingers closed over it.  The velvety softness of the little hand sent a thrill through his veins, and the firm, unyielding strength of his clasp was a new, delicious sensation to the girl.  Startled by it, she made a feeble effort to withdraw her hand; but Max clasped it firmly, and she surrendered.  After a short silence she placed the ring to her forehead, closed her eyes, and drew her face so near to Max that he felt her warm breath on his cheek.  Max was learning a new lesson in life—­the greatest of all.  She spoke in soft whispers, slowly dropping her words one by one in sepulchral tones:—­

“What—­do—­I see—­surely I am wrong.  No—­I see clearly—­a lady—­a great lady—­a princess.  She smiles upon a man.  He is tall and young.  His face is fair; his hair falls in long, bright curls like yours.  She gives him this ring; she asks him to be her husband—­no—­surely a modest maiden would not do that.”  She stopped suddenly, snatched her hand from Max, returned the ring and cried, “No more, no more!”

She tossed her hands in the air, as if to drive off the spirits, and without another word ran to the parlor laughing, and threw herself on Uncle Castleman’s knee.  Max slowly made the sign of the cross and followed the little enchantress.  She had most effectually imposed on him.  He was inclined to believe that she had seen the ring or had heard of it in Burgundy before the princess sent it; but Yolanda could have been little more than a child at that time—­three years before.  Perhaps she was hardly past fourteen, and one of her class would certainly not be apt to know of the ring that had been sent by the princess.  She might have received her information from Twonette, who, Franz said, was acquainted with Mary of Burgundy; but even had Yolanda heard of the ring, the fact would not have helped her to know it.

After our first evening with the Castlemans we got on famously together.  True, Max and I felt that we were making great concessions, and I do not doubt that we showed it in many unconscious words and acts.  This certainly was true of Max; but Yolanda’s unfailing laughter, though at times it was provoking, soon brought him to see that too great a sense of dignity was at times ridiculous.  He could not, however, always forget that he was a Hapsburg while she was a burgher girl, and his good memory got him many a keen little thrust from her saucy tongue.  If Max resented her sauciness, she ran away from him with the full knowledge that he would miss her.  She was much surer that she pleased and delighted him than he was that he pleased her, though of the latter fact she left, in truth, little room for doubt.