The cavalcade turned to the left, and went up a narrow street toward
Cambrai Gate, evidently bound for the marshes. Max and I walked straight
ahead toward the Cologne bridge, intending, as we had promised, to go
back to Castleman's. Two hundred yards up the street I glanced back, and
saw a lady riding through the Postern, back to the castle. I knew at
once that the princess had returned, and I was sure of meeting
Yolanda,--sweet, smiling, tender Yolanda,--at the dear old House under
the Wall. I did not like the princess; she was cold, haughty,
supercilious, and perhaps tinged with her father's cruelty. I longed
ardently for Yolanda to come out of her skin, and my heart leaped with
joy at the early prospect.
I was right in my surmise. Yolanda's sweet face, radiant with smiles and
soft with dimples, was pressed against the window-pane watching for us
when we crossed the moat bridge at Castleman's door.
"To see her face again is like coming back to heaven; isn't it, Karl?"
said Max.
Yolanda ran to the door and opened it.
"I am glad you did not stay with her," she said, giving a hand to Max
and to me, and walking into the room between us. She was like a child
holding our hands.
I had seen the world and its people in all its phases, and I prided
myself on my shrewdness, but without my knowledge of the stairway in the
wall, I would have sworn that Yolanda had played a trick on me by
leading me to believe that she was the Princess Mary.
Pages:
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313