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Major, Charles, 1856-1913

"Yolanda: Maid of Burgundy"

I was athrill with the delightful thought that, all
unknown to the world, unknown even to himself, Max, through my
instrumentality, was wooing Mary of Burgundy within fifty feet of where
I sat. He was not, of course, actively pressing his suit, but all
unconsciously he was taking the best course to win her heart forever and
ever. Now, with a propitious trick of fortune, my fantastic dream,
conceived in far-off Styria, might yet become a veritable fact. By what
rare trick this consummation might be brought about, I did not know, but
fortune had been kind so far, and I felt that her capricious ladyship
would not abandon us.
Yolanda turned to Max with a soft laugh of satisfaction, settled her
skirts about her, as a pleased woman is apt to do, and said
contentedly:--
"There, now!"
"Fraeulein, you are very kind to me," said Max.
"Yes--yes, I am, Sir Max," she responded, beaming on him. "Now, tell me
what you and Twonette have been talking about."
"You," answered Max.
A laugh gurgled in her throat as she asked:--
"What else?"
"I'll tell you if you will tell me what you and Sir Karl were saying,"
he responded.
"Ah, I see!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands gleefully. "You were
jealous."
"I admit it," he answered, so very seriously that one might have thought
him in earnest. "And you, Fraeulein?"
"I jealous?" she responded, with lifted eyebrows. "You are a vain man,
Sir Max. I was not jealous--only--only a tiny bit--so much--" and she
measured the extent of her jealousy on the pink tip of her little
finger.


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