“We surely have had our share of late,” I said dolefully.

“All will soon be well with us, Karl; do not fear.  We shall be free to-morrow, and I will kill this Calli.  Then I’ll go back to Styria a better, wiser, stronger man than I could ever have been had I remained at home.  This last terrible experience has been the keystone of my regeneration.  It has taught me to be merciful even to the guilty, and gentle with the accused.  No man shall ever suffer at my command until he has been proved guilty.  Doubtless thousands of innocent men as free from crime and evil intent as we, are wasting their lives away in dungeons as loathsome as those that imprisoned us.”

“Calli will not fight you,” I said.

“If he refuses, I will kill him at the steps of the throne of Burgundy, let the result be what it may.  God will protect me in my just vengeance.  I will then go home; and I’ll not return to Burgundy till I do so at the head of an army, to compel Duke Charles to behead Campo-Basso.”

“What will you do about Yolanda, Max?” I asked.

The interference of the princess in our behalf had thrown more light on my important riddle, and once again I was convinced that she was Yolanda.

“I’ll keep her in my heart till I die, Karl,” he responded, “and I pray God to give her a happier life than mine can be.  That is all I can do.”

“Will you see her before you go?” I asked, fully intending that there should be no doubt on the question.

“Yes, and then—­” He paused; and, after a little time, I asked:—­

“And what then, Max?”

“God only knows what, Karl.  I’m sure I don’t,” he answered.

We talked till late into the night, lay down on our soft, clean beds of straw, and were soon asleep.

I did not know how long I had been sleeping when I was wakened by a voice that seemed to fill the room, low, soft, and musical as the tones of an Aeolian harp.  I groped my way noiselessly in the dark to Max’s bed and aroused him.  Placing my hand over his mouth to insure silence, I whispered:—­

“Listen!”

He rested on his elbow, and we waited.  After a few seconds the voice again resounded through the room, soft as a murmured ave, distinct as the notes of a bird.  Max clutched my hand.  Soon the voice came again, and we heard the words:—­

“Little Max, do you hear?  Answer softly.”

“I hear,” responded Max.

There was an uncanny note in the music of the voice.  It seemed almost celestial.  We could not tell whence it came.  Every stone in the walls and ceiling, every slab in the floor seemed resonant with silvery tones.  After Max had answered there was a pause lasting two or three minutes, and the voice spoke again:—­

“I love you, Little Max.  I tell you because I wish to comfort you.  Do not fear.  You shall be free to-morrow.  Do not answer.  Adieu.”

“Yolanda!  Yolanda!” cried Max, pleadingly; but he received no answer.  He put his hand on my shoulder and said:—­