Fearing the return of the Schwartreiter with reenforcements, we lost no time in resuming our journey, Max and Yolanda quickly finished their dinner, but Castleman, Twonette, and myself did not care to eat.

Within ten minutes after Max had killed the captain of the Black Riders we were on our road travelling downhill, very joyful in our victory and very proud of our knight, Sir Max.  We left the dead men by the roadside, but took with us two fine horses as compensation for our trouble.  The captain’s great charger Max appropriated for his own.  He will appear again in this chronicle.

We rode silently but joyfully.  Twonette slowly recovered from her fright, and the pink crept back to her cheeks.  The pink had not left Yolanda’s cheeks, nor had her nerves been disturbed by the adventures of the morning.  Max tried hard to suppress his exuberance of spirit, and Yolanda laved him in the sunshine of her smiles.

Within three hours we were safely housed at a village by the Rhine.  Castleman, finding me alone, said:—­

“You, Sir Karl, and Sir Max little know the value of the friend you have made this day.”

“I thank you, good Castleman,” I answered, hardly liking so great an air of condescension on the part of a burgher.  An afterthought suggested that perhaps Castleman had not referred to himself as the friend we had made.  Strange thoughts and speculations had of late been swarming in my mind until they had almost taken the form of a refrain, “Who is Yolanda?” Though the question repeated itself constantly by day and by night, I received no whisper of an answer.

We travelled slowly, and it was not until the second day after our conflict with the Black Riders that we found ourselves near Strasburg.  A league from the city gates we met Raoul de Rose, a herald of the Duke of Burgundy.  Yolanda recognized his banner at a distance and hastily veiled herself.  Twonette remained unveiled.

We halted, and De Rose, who was travelling alone, safe under a herald’s privileges, drew rein beside Castleman and me, who had been riding in advance of our cavalcade.  While Castleman was talking to De Rose, Yolanda and Twonette rode forward, passing on that side of the highway which left Castleman and me between them and the herald.

“Ah, good Castleman,” said De Rose, “you are far from home these troublous times.”

“Your words imply bad news, monsieur,” returned Castleman.  “I have already heard hints of trouble, though all was quiet when I left Peronne.”

“When did you leave?” asked the herald.

“More than two months ago,” answered Castleman.

“With our rapidly moving duke, two months is ample time to make a deal of trouble, to gain victories, and to compel peace among his quarrelsome neighbors,” answered De Rose.  “It is publicly known that I carry defiance to the Swiss.  They cannot comply with Burgundy’s terms, and war will surely follow.  Our duke will teach these Swiss sheep to stop bleating, and when this war is finished, the dominion of Burgundy will include the Alps.  Duke Charles will have fresh ice for his dinner every day—­ice from the mountain tops.”