"I promised you I would not go," he responded, "and I would not willingly break my word to any one, certainly not to you, Fräulein." "I was angry when I heard you had left the inn," she said, "and I spoke unkindly of you. There has been an ache in my heart ever since that nothing but confession and remission will cure." "I grant the remission gladly," answered Max. "There was flattery in your anger." The girl laughed softly and, clasping her hands over her knee, spoke with a sigh. "I think women have the harder part of life in everything. I again ask you to promise me that you will not leave Peronne within a month." "I cannot promise you that, Fräulein," answered Max. "You will some day--soon, perhaps--know my reasons," said Yolanda, "and if they do not prove good I am willing to forfeit your esteem. That is the greatest hostage I can give." "I cannot promise," answered Max, stubbornly. "I offer you another inducement, one that will overmatch the small weight of my poor wishes. I promise to bring you to meet this Mary of Burgundy whom you came to woo. I cannot present you, but I will see that Twonette brings about the meeting. I tell you, as I have already told Sir Karl, that it is said I resemble this princess, so you must not mistake her for me." When Max told me of this offer I wondered if the girl had been testing him, and a light dawned on me concerning her motives. "I did not come to woo her," answered Max, "though she may have been a part of my reason for coming. I knew that she was affianced to the Dauphin of France. Her beauty and goodness were known to me through letters of my Lord d'Hymbercourt, written to my dear old friend Karl. Because of certain transactions, of which you do not know and of which I may not speak, I esteemed her for a time above all women, though I had never seen her. I still esteem her, but--but the other is all past now, Fräulein, and I do not wish to meet the princess, though the honor would be far beyond my deserts." "Why do you not wish to meet her?" asked Yolanda, with an air of pleasure. Max hesitated, then answered bluntly:-- "Because I have met you, Fräulein. You should not lead me to speak such words." Yolanda touched Max's arm and said frankly:-- "There can be no harm, Max. If you knew all,--if I could tell you all,--you would understand. The words can harm neither of us." She hesitated and, with drooping head, continued: "And they are to me as the sun and the south wind to the flowers and the corn. You already know all that is in my heart, or I would not speak so plainly. In all my life I have known little of the sweet touch of human sympathy and love, and, Max, my poor heart yearns for them until at times I feel like the flowers without the sun and the corn without the rain,--as if I will die for lack of them. I am almost tempted to tell you all."