orfeit 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,
Fraeulein, 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, Fraeulein. 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."

"Tell me all, Yolanda," entreated Max, "for I, too, have suffered from
the same want, though my misfortune comes from being born to a high
estate. If you but knew the lonely, corroding misery of those born to a
station above the reach of real human sympathy, you would not envy, you
would pity them. You would be charitable to their sins, and would thank
God for your lowly lot in life. I wi