duke and the princess at the Postern, and back again flew my mind to the
conviction that Yolanda was not, and could not possibly be, the Princess
Mary. For days I had been able to think on no other subject. One moment
she was Yolanda; the next she was the princess; and the next I did not
know who she was. Surely the riddle would drive me mad. The fate of
nations--but, infinitely more important to me, the fate of Max--depended
upon its solution.

Castleman had told us to remain at the inn until his return, and had
exacted from Max, as you will remember, a promise not to visit the House
under the Wall, which we had learned was the home of our burgher friend.
We therefore spent our days and evenings in Grote's garden near the
banks of the river Cologne.

One afternoon, while we were sitting at a table sipping wine under the
shade of a tree near the river bank, Max said:--

"I have enjoyed every day of our journey, Karl. I have learned the great
lesson of life, and am now ready to go back to Styria and take up my
burden. We must see our friends and say farewell to them. Then--"

"You forget the object of our journey to Burgundy," I answered.

"No, I have not forgotten it," he replied. "I had abandoned it even
before I heard of the impending French marriage."

"Not with my consent, Max," I answered almost fiercely. "The princess is
not yet married, and no one can foresee the outcome of these present
complications into which the duke is plunging. We could not have reached
Burgundy at a more auspicious time. God's hand seems to have been in our
venture. If evil befall the duke, there will be an open gate for you,
Max,--a gate opened by fate."

I could not, by my utmost effort, force myself entirely away from the
belief that Yolanda was the princess, and I was near to telling Max of
my suspicions; but doubt came before my words, and I remained silent.
Before many days I was glad of my caution.

"I knew," said Max, "that I would pain you, Karl, by this determination
to return to Styria without so much as an effort to do--to do what we--
what you wished; but it must be as I say. I must leave Burgundy and go
back to my strait-jacket. I have lived my life, Karl, I have had my
portion of sweet joy and sweeter pain. The pain will give me joy as long
as I live. Now for my duty to my father, my house, and my ancestors."

"But your duty to all these lies here in Peronne," I answered, almost
stifled by the stupendous import of t