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." "I do not know--I cannot hope," she responded dolefully. "You see, when father made this treaty with France, he was halting between two men in the choice of a husband for me. One was the Dauphin, son to King Louis, whom father hates with every breath he draws. The other was the Duke of Gelders, whom father really likes. Gelders is a brute, Sir Karl. He kept his father in prison four years, and usurped his domain. He is a drunkard, a murderer, and a profligate. For reasons of state father chose the Dauphin, but if the treaty with France is broken, I suppose it will be Gelders again. If it comes to that, Sir Karl--but I'll not say what I'll do. My head is full of schemes from morning till night, and when I sleep my poor brain is a whirl of visions. Self-destruction, elopement, and I know not what else appeal to me. How far is it to Styria, Sir Karl?" she asked abruptly. "Two or three hundred leagues, perhaps--it may be more," I answered. "I do not know how far it is, Yolanda, but it is not far enough for your purposes. Even could you reach there, Styria could not protect you." "I was not thinking of--of what you suppose, Sir Karl," she said plaintively. "What were you thinking of, Yolanda?" I asked. "Of nothing--of--of--a wild dream of hiding away from the world in some unknown corner, at times comes to me in my sleep--only in my sleep, Sir Karl--for in my waking hours I know it to be impossible. The only pleasant part of being a princess is that the world envies you; but what a poor bauble it is to buy at the frightful price I pay!" "I have been on mountain tops," I answered philosophically, "and I find that breathing grows difficult as one ascends." "Ah, Sir Karl," she answered tearfully, "I believe I'll go upstairs and weep."