"Uncle carves the pie, the wrens fly out, you open
your mouth, and the birds, being very small, fly down your throat and
save you the trouble eating them. They are trained to do it, you know."
A chorus of laughter followed this remarkable statement. Max leaned
forward, rested his elbows on his knees, looked at the ground for the
space of half a minute, and said:--
"I was mistaken in saying that I had never partaken of the dish. While
at Basel I foolishly opened my mouth, and a beautiful little bird flew
down my throat to my heart."
Frau Castleman coughed, and the burgher moved in his chair and swallowed
half a goblet of wine. Twonette laughed outright at the pretty turn Max
had made upon Yolanda, and I ridiculously tried to keep my face
expressionless. Yolanda laughed flutteringly, and the long lashes fell.
"That was prettily spoken, Sir Max," she said, smiling. "No Frenchman
could improve upon it. You are constantly surprising me."
"Are Frenchmen apt at such matters, Fraeulein?" I asked.
"I have known but few Frenchmen," she responded. "You know Burgundy and
France are natural enemies, like the cat and the dog. I have little love
for the French. I speak only from hearsay."
"You will do well to learn to like them," I suggested. "Burgundy itself
will soon be French, if the Princess Mary weds the Dauphin."
By speaking freely of the princess, I hoped Yolanda might believe that,
whatever my surmises were concerning her identity, I did not suspect
that she was Mademoiselle de Burgundy.
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