The chains of duty to family, state, and ancestry that bound
Max's feet so firmly would be but wisps of straw about Yolanda's slender
ankles. She would have no hesitancy in making her choice, were she free
to do so, and states might go hang for all she would care. Her heart was
her state. Would she ever be able to choose? Fortune had been kind to us
thus far; would she remain our friend? She is a coquette; but the heart
of a coquette, if truly won, is the most steadfast of all.
Twonette brought in the wine and honey; Castleman soon returned and
lighted the lamp, and we all sat talking before the small blaze in the
fireplace, till the great clock in the middle of the room chimed the
hour of ten. Then Yolanda ran from us with a hurried good night, and Max
returned with me to the inn.
* * * * *
I cannot describe the joy I took from the recurring thought that I was
particeps criminis with the Princess of Burgundy in the commission of a
crime. At times I wished the crime had been greater and its extenuation
far less. We hear much about what happens when thieves fall out, but my
observation teaches me that thieves usually remain good friends. The
bonds of friendship had begun to strengthen between Yolanda and me
before she sought my help in the perpetration of her great crime. After
that black felony, they became like links of Milan chain. I shared her
secrets, great and small.
One day while Yolanda and I were sitting in the oak room,--the room from
which the panel opened into the stairway in the wall,--I said to her:--
"If your letter 't' causes a break with France, perhaps Max's
opportunity may come.
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