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."
"Then give it to me, Sir Max," she cried excitedly.
"I may not do that, Fraeulein," answered Max. "It was given to me by one
I respect."
"I know who the lady is," answered Yolanda, tossing her head saucily and
speaking with a dash of irritation in her voice.
"Ah, you do?" asked Max. "Tell me now, my little witch, who is the lady?
If you know so much tell me."
Yolanda lifted her eyes solemnly toward heaven, invoking the help of her
never failing familiar spirit.
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