A beautiful woman is born with a latent consciousness of her power over the subjugated sex.  Max found in the soft touch of the girl’s hand a wonderful antidote to her sharp words.  She continued to hold his hand as compensation while she said, laughing nervously:—­

“Sir Max, you are still young.  A friend would advise you:  Never lose a chance to laugh, even though it be at your own expense.  There will always be opportunity to grieve and be gloomy.  I tell you frankly, Sir Max, I almost wept when I bade you good-by at Metz.  Now, I am telling you my state secret and am giving you more than you have asked.”

Max joyfully interrupted her:—­

“I can forgive you all your raillery, Fraeulein, for that admission.”

“Yes, I confess it is a very important admission,” she said, in half-comic seriousness, “but you see, I really did weep when I parted from my great mastiff, Caesar, at Peronne.”

The saucy turn was made so quickly that its humor took Max unawares, and he laughed.

“There, there!  Sir Max, there is hope for you,” she cried exultantly.  Then she continued, stealing a side glance at him, “I loved Caesar very, very much.”

There was a satisfying implication in her laughing words, owing to the fact that she had almost wept at Metz.  Max was eager to take advantage of the opportunity her words gave him, for his caution was rapidly oozing away; but he had placed a seal on his lips, and they were shut—­at least, for the time.  His silence needed no explanation to Yolanda, and she continued laughingly:—­

“Yes, I almost wept.  Perhaps I did weep.  I will not say truly that I did not, Sir Max, but within an hour I was laughing at my foolish self and feared that you, too, would be laughing at me.  I wondered if in all the world there was another burgher maiden so great a fool as to lift her eyes to a mighty lord, or to think that he could lower his eyes to her with true intent.”

At that point in the conversation I felt that the seal upon Max’s lips would not stand another attack.  It was sure to melt; so I rode to Yolanda’s side and interrupted the interesting colloquy.

Max supposed the girl to be of the burgher class, and if by any chance she were Mary of Burgundy, he might ruin his future, should he become too insistent upon his rank in explaining the reasons why he could not follow the path of his inclinations.  He might make himself ridiculous; and that mistake will ruin a man with any woman, especially if she be young and much inclined to laugh.

During the foregoing conversation we had been travelling at a six-mile canter.  The day was warm, and I suggested breathing the horses in the shade of the forest.

“I believe we are approaching the river,” I said, “and we should rest the horses before taking a dash over the open road.”