"The lady in scarlet is the duchess," said Castleman.
"She is English," remarked Yolanda, "and loves bright colors."
"Which is the princess?" I asked of Yolanda, feeling that I also was
acting my part admirably. To my surprise she answered promptly:--
"She in blue with a falcon on her shoulder. Am I not right, uncle?"
"Yes," responded Castleman. Twonette confirmed the statement.
My air-castles fell noiselessly about my head. My dreams vanished like
breath from a cold mirror, and the sphinx-like face of my great riddle
rose before me in defiance.
After the cavalcade had passed I found myself with Yolanda a dozen paces
from the others.
"Fraeulein," I said, "I want to confess I thought you were the Princess
Mary of Burgundy."
Yolanda laughed softly.
"I was sure you had some such absurd notion. I supposed you had seen
her, and had believed she was Yolanda, the burgher girl; that mistake
has often been made. You may see this princess at the castle, and I warn
you not to be deceived. I have the great honor, it is said, to resemble
Her Highness as one pea resembles another. I have been told that she has
heard of the low-born maiden that dares to have a face like hers, and
she doubtless hates me for it, just as I bear her no good-will for the
same reason. When two women greatly resemble each other, there is
seldom good feeling between them. Each believes the other is stealing
something of her personality, and a woman's vanity prompts her to resent
it.
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