Several days passed, during which we saw the Castlemans frequently. One evening after supper, when we were all sitting in the parlor, Yolanda enticed Max to an adjoining room, on the excuse of showing him an ancient piece of tapestry. When it had been examined, she seated herself on a window bench and indicated a chair for Max near by. Among much that was said I quote the following from memory, as Max told me afterward:-- "So you are from Italy, Sir Max?" queried Yolanda, stealing a glance at his ring. "Yes," returned Max. "From what part, may I ask?" continued the girl, with a slight inclination of her head to one side and a flash from beneath the preposterously long lashes toward his hand. "From--from Rome," stammered Max, halting at even so small a lie. "Ah, Sir Karl said you were from Lombardy," answered the girl. "Well--that is--originally, perhaps, I was," he returned. "Perhaps your family lives in both places?" she asked very seriously. "Yes, that is the way of it," he responded. "Were you born in both places?" asked Yolanda, without the shadow of a smile. Max was thinking of the little lie he was telling and did not analyze her question. "No," he answered, in simple honesty, "you see I could not be born in two places. That would be impossible." "Perhaps it would be," replied Yolanda, with perfect gravity. Max was five years her senior, but he was a boy, while she had the self-command of a quick-witted woman, though she still retained the saucy impertinence of childhood. Slow-going, guileless Max began to suspect a lurking intention on Yolanda's part to quiz him. "Did not Sir Karl say something about your having been born in Styria?" asked the girl, glancing slyly at the ring. "No, he did not," answered Max, emphatically. "I suppose I was born in Rome--no, I mean Lombardy--but it cannot matter much to you, Fräulein, where I was born if I do not wish to tell." The direct course was as natural to Max as breathing. The girl was startled by his abruptness. After a pause she continued:-- "I am sure you are not ashamed of your birthplace, and--" He interrupted her sharply:-- "I also am sure I am not ashamed of it." "If you had permitted me to finish," she said quietly, "you would have had no need to speak so sharply. I spoke seriously. I wanted to say that I am sure you have no reason to feel ashamed of your birthplace, and that perhaps I ought not to have asked a question that you evidently do not want to answer. Uncle says if my curiosity were taken from me, there would be nothing left but my toes." Her contrition melted Max at once, and he said:-- I will gladly tell you, Fräulein, if you want to know. I was born--" "No, no," she interrupted, "you shall not tell me. I will leave you at once and see you no more if you do. Besides, there is no need to tell me; I already know. I am a sorceress, a witch. I regret to make the confession, but it is true; I am a witch."