She is like a feather-bed in that
she cannot be injured by a blow, neither can she give one; but
Yolanda--ah, Karl, she is like a priceless jewel that may be shattered
by a blow and may blind one by its radiance."
But Max's devotion to Twonette was a failure. She was certainly willing,
but Yolanda would have none of it, and with no equivocation gave every
one to understand as much. Still, she held Max at a respectful distance.
In fact, this Yolanda handled us all as a juggler tosses his balls. Max
must not be too attentive to her, and he must not be at all attentive to
Twonette. In this arrangement Twonette acquiesced. She would not dare to
lift her eyes to one upon whom Yolanda was looking!
Here was illustrated the complete supremacy of mind over matter.
Castleman, Twonette, Franz and his frau, Max and I, all danced when the
tiny white hand of Yolanda pulled the strings. A kiss or a saucy nod for
Castleman or Twonette, a smile or a frown for Max and me, were the
instruments wherewith she worked. Deftly she turned each situation as
she desired. Max made frequent efforts to obtain a private moment with
her, that he might ask a few questions concerning her wonderful
knowledge of his ring--they had been burning him since the night of her
sorcery--but, though she knew quite well his desire to question her, she
gave him no opportunity.
During the time that Castleman was buying his silks, the members of our
little party grew rapidly in friendship.
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