At the end of this street a stone footbridge spanned the moat, leading to a strip of ground perhaps one hundred yards broad and two hundred long that lay between the moat and the castle wall.  At either end of this strip the moat again turned to the castle.  The Cologne River joined the moat at the north end of this tract of ground and flowed on by the castle wall to the Somme.  In a grove of trees stood a large two-story house of time-darkened stone, built against the castle wall.  One could not leave the strip of ground save by the stone footbridge, unless by swimming the moat or scaling the walls.

When we reached the footbridge, Yolanda and Twonette, without a word of farewell, urged their horses across, and, springing from their saddles, hurriedly entered the house.  Max and I turned our horses’ heads, and, as we were leaving the footbridge, saw the duke’s cavalcade enter the Postern, which was perhaps three hundred yards back and north of the strip on which stood the House under the Wall.

To reach the Postern in the castle wall from the footbridge one must go well up into the town and cross the great bridge that spans the Cologne; then back along the north bank of the river by the street that leads to the Postern.  From the House under the Wall to the Postern, by way of the Cologne bridge, is a half-hour’s walk, though in a direct line, as the crow flies, it may be less than three hundred yards.  Neither Max nor I knew whether our journey had been a success or a failure.

We rode leisurely back to the centre of the town, and asked a carter to direct us to Marcus Grote’s inn, The Mitre.  We soon found it, and gave mine host the letter that we bore from Castleman.  Although the hour of nine in the morning had not yet struck, Max and I eagerly sought our beds, and did not rise till late in the afternoon.  The next morning we dismissed our squires, fearing they might talk.  We paid the men, gave them each a horse, and saw them well on their road back to Switzerland.  They were Swiss lads, and could not take themselves out of Burgundy fast enough to keep pace with their desires.

Notwithstanding Castleman’s admonition, Max determined to remain in Peronne; not for the sake of Mary the princess, but for the smile of Yolanda the burgher girl.  I well knew that opposition would avail nothing, and was quite willing to be led by the unseen hand of fate.

The evening of the second day after our arrival I walked out at dusk and by accident met my friend, the Sieur d’Hymbercourt.  He it was to whom my letters concerning Max had been written, and who had been responsible for the offer of Mary’s hand.  He recognized me before I could avoid him, so I offered my hand and he gave me kindly welcome.

“By what good fortune are you here, Sir Karl?” he asked.

“I cannot tell,” I answered, “whether it be good or evil fortune that brings me.  I deem it right to tell you that I am here with my young pupil, the Count of Hapsburg.”