“Hush, Max, hush,” she cried, placing her hand protestingly against his breast.  “You do not know what you are saying.  There is no stain on me or my family.”

Max wondered, but was silent; he had not earned the right to be inquisitive.

The guard appeared at that moment on the castle battlements, and Max and Yolanda sought the shelter of a grove of trees a dozen paces from the bridge on the town side of the moat.  They seated themselves on a bench, well within the shadow of the trees, and after a moment’s silence Max said:—­

“I shall not come to the bridge again, Fraeulein.  I’ll wait till your uncle returns, when I shall see you at his house.  Then I’ll say farewell and go back to the hard rocks of my native land—­and to a life harder than the rocks.”

“You are right in your resolve not to come again to the bridge,” said Yolanda, “for so long as you come, I, too, shall come—­when I can.  That will surely bring us trouble sooner or later.  But when Uncle Castleman returns, you must come to his house, and I shall see you there.  As to your leaving Peronne, we will talk of that later.  It is not to be thought of now.”

She spoke with the confidence of one who felt that she might command him to stay or order him to go.  She would settle that little point for herself.

“I will go, Fraeulein,” said Max, “soon after your uncle’s return.”

“Perhaps it will be best, but we will determine that when we must—­when the time comes that we can put it off no longer.  Now, I wish you to grant me three promises, Sir Max.  First, ask me no questions concerning myself.  Of course, you will ask them of no one else; I need not demand that promise of you.”

“I gladly promise,” he answered.  “What I already know of you is all-sufficient.”

“Second, do not fail to come to my uncle’s house when he invites you.  His home is worthy to receive the grandest prince in the world.  My—­my lord, Duke Philip the Good, was Uncle Castleman’s dear friend.  The old duke, when in Peronne, dined once a week with my uncle.  Although uncle is a burgher, he could have been noble.  He refused a lordship and declined the Order of the Golden Fleece, preferring the freedom of his own caste.  I have always thought he acted wisely.”

“Indeed he was wise,” returned Max.  “You that have never known the restraints of one born to high estate cannot fully understand how wise he was.”

Yolanda glanced up to Max with amusement in her eyes:—­

“Ah, yes!  For example, there is poor Mary of Burgundy, who is to marry the French Dauphin.  I pity her.  For all we know, she may be longing for another man as I—­I longed for my mastiff, Caesar, when I was away.  By the way, Sir Max, are you still wearing the ring?” She took his hand and felt for the ring on his finger.  “Ah, you have left it off,” she cried reproachfully, answering her own question.

“Yes,” answered Max.  “There have been so many changes within the last few weeks that I have taken it off, and—­and I shall cease to wear it.”