“It was Yolanda, Karl—­ah, God must hate a child that He brings into the world a prince.”

For the rest of the night we did not sleep, neither did we speak.  The morrow was to be a day of frightful import to us, and we awaited it in great anxiety.

When the morning broke and the sun shot his rays through the narrow window, we carefully examined the floor and walls of our room, but we found no opening through which the voice could have penetrated.  In the side of the room formed by the wall of the tower, the mortar had fallen from between two stones, leaving one of them somewhat loose, but the castle wall at that point was fully sixteen feet thick, and it was impossible that the voice should have come through the layers of stone.

From my first acquaintance with Yolanda there had seemed to be a supernatural element in her nature, an elfin quality in her face and manner that could not be described.  Max had often told me that she impressed him in like manner.  The voice in our stone-girt chamber, coming as it did from nowhere, and resounding as it did everywhere, intensified that feeling till it was almost a conviction, though I am slow to accept supernatural explanations—­a natural one usually exists.  Of course, there are rare instances of supernatural power vested in men and women, and Yolanda’s great, burning eyes caused me at times, almost to believe that she was favored with it.

The voice that we had heard was unquestionably Yolanda’s, but by what strange power it was enabled to penetrate our rock-ribbed prison and give tongues to the cold stones I could not guess, though I could not stop trying.  Here was another riddle set by this marvellous girl for my solving.  This riddle, however, helped to solve the first, and confirmed my belief that Yolanda was Mary of Burgundy.

After breakfast Max and I were taken to the great hall, where we found Castleman standing before the ducal throne, speaking to Charles.  The burgher turned toward us, and as we approached I heard him say:—­

“My lord, these men are not spies.”

“Who are they?” demanded the duke.

Castleman gave our names and told the story of our meeting at Basel, after we had escorted Merchant Franz from Cannstadt.  Then he narrated Max’s adventure at the moat bridge, closing with:—­

“Count Calli grossly insulted Fraeulein Castleman, for which Sir Max chastised him; and no doubt, my lord, this arrest has been made for revenge.”

“Has the younger man name or title other than you have given?” asked Charles.

The burgher hesitated before he answered:—­

“He has, my lord, though I may not disclose it to Your Grace without his permission, unless you order me so to do upon my fealty.  That I humbly beg Your Grace not to do.”