I
was not sure of her motive in maintaining the alias, though I was
certain it was more than a mere whim. How great it was I could not know.
Should she persist in it I would help her up to the point of telling Max
a downright falsehood. There I would stop.
We spent two evenings at Castleman's, but did not see Yolanda. On the
first evening, after an hour of listlessness, Max hesitatingly asked:--
"Where is Yo--that is, the princess has not been here this evening."
"The princess!" exclaimed Frau Kate. "No, she has not been here this
evening--nor the duke, nor the king of France. No titled person, Sir
Count, save yourself, has honored us to-day. Our poor roof shelters
few such."
"I mean Yolanda," said Max. Good-natured Frau Kate laughed softly, and
Twonette said, with smiling serenity:--
"Yolanda's head will surely be turned, Sir Count, when she hears you
have called her the princess. So much greatness thrust upon her will
make it impossible for us to live with her."
"She rules us all as it is, sweet soul," said Castleman.
"Yolanda is ill upstairs, Sir Count," said Frau Kate. "She wanted to
come down this evening, but I commanded otherwise. Twonette, go to her.
She will be lonely."
Twonette rose, courtesied, and departed. This splendid bit of acting
almost made me doubt that Yolanda was the princess, and it shook Max's
conviction to its very foundation.
I wish to warn you that the deception practised upon Max by Yolanda will
seem almost impossible, except on the hypothesis that Max was a very
simple fellow.
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