Why
don't you give the bird to me, Sir Max, if you are eager to part
with it?"
"I would gladly have given it to you, Fraeulein," answered Max, "had I
supposed you could use it on the duke's marshes. Only nobles practise
the royal sport of falconry."
Yolanda glanced quickly from Max to Castleman, turned her face to the
bird upon her shoulder, and said, with a touch of dignity:--
"We receive small favors from court once in a while, don't we, uncle?
We are not dirt under the nobles' feet, if we are plain burgher folk,
are we, uncle?"
"Don't you know, Fraeulein, what great pleasure I should have taken in
giving you the bird?" asked Max.
Yolanda bent her head to one side, placed her cheek against the falcon's
wing and pouted. Her pout was prettier even than her smile, and that is
saying a great deal.
After a few minutes Yolanda started to walk up the garden path and Max
followed her, leaving the Castlemans and me under the arbor. Yolanda,
still pouting, carried Caesar on her shoulder, lavishing caresses on the
bird that excited Max's bitterest envy. Max spoke at intervals, but she
answered only to the bird. After many futile efforts to make her speak,
he said:--
"If you won't talk to me, I'll go back to the arbor."
She turned to the bird: "We are willing, Caesar, aren't we--if he can
go."
Max laughed and started toward the arbor.
"Tell him to come back, Caesar. Tell him to come back," exclaimed
Yolanda.
"I take no orders from a bird," declared Max, with pretended
seriousness.
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