“Nicely done, my boy, nicely done.  But you are far too considerate.  Why kiss a lady’s hand when her lips are so near?  I will show you, Fraeulein Castleman, exactly how so delicate a transaction is conducted by an enterprising gentleman.”

He insultingly took hold of Yolanda, and, with evident intent to kiss her, tried to lift the veil with which she had hastily covered her face.  Max struck the fellow a blow that felled him to the ground, but Calli rose and, drawing his dagger, rushed upon Max.  Yolanda stood almost paralyzed with terror.  Max was unarmed, but he seized Calli’s wrist and twisted it till a small bone cracked, and the dagger fell from his hand to the ground.  Calli’s arm hung limp at his side, and he was powerless to do further injury.  Max did not take advantage of his helplessness, but said:—­

“Go, or I will twist your neck as I have broken your wrist.”

Max had gone out that evening without arms or armor.  He had not even a dagger.

When Calli had passed out of sight, Yolanda stooped, picked up his dagger, and offered it to Max, saying:—­

“He will gather his friends at once.  Take this dagger and hasten back to the inn, or you will never reach it alive.  No, come with me to Uncle Castleman’s house.  There you may lie concealed.”

“I may not go to your uncle’s house, Fraeulein,” answered Max.  “I can go safely to the inn.  Do not fear for me.”

Yolanda protested frantically, but Max refused.

“Go quickly, then,” she said, “and be on your guard at all times.  This man who came upon us is Count Calli, the greatest villain in Burgundy.  He is a friend of Campo-Basso.  Now hasten to the inn, if you will not come with me to uncle’s house, and beware, for this man and his friends will seek vengeance; of that you must never allow yourself to doubt.  Adieu, till uncle comes.”

Max reached the inn unmolested.  We donned our mail shirts, expecting trouble, and took turn and turn watching and sleeping.  Next day we hired two stalwart Irish squires and armed them cap-a-pie.  We meant to give our Italian friends a hot welcome if they attacked us, though we had, in truth, little fear of an open assault.  We dreaded more a dagger thrust in the back, or trouble from court through the machinations of Campo-Basso.

The next morning Max sent one of our Irishmen to Castleman’s house with a verbal message to Fraeulein Castleman.  When the messenger returned, he replied to my question:—­

“I was shown into a little room where three ladies sat.  ’What have you to say?’ asked the little black-haired one in the corner—­she with the great eyes and the face pale as a chalk-cliff.  I said, ’I am instructed, mesdames, to deliver this simple message:  Sir Max is quite well.’  ’That will do.  Thank you.’ said the big eyes and the pale face.  Then she gave me two gold florins.  The money almost took my breath, and when I looked up to thank her, blest if the white face wasn’t rosy as a June dawn.  When I left, she was dancing about the room singing and laughing, and kissing everybody but me—­worse luck!  By Saint Patrick, I never saw so simple a message create so great a commotion.  ‘Sir Max is quite well.’  I’m blest if he doesn’t look it.  Was he ever ill?”