is house
from the castle. While we talked, the cavalcade of ladies and gentlemen
that we had watched from Castleman's garden cantered up the street.

"You will now see the princess," said Hymbercourt. "She comes with the
duke and the duchess. They left the castle at five, and have been riding
in the moonlight."

We stepped to one side of the street as the cavalcade passed, and I
asked Hymbercourt to point out the princess.

"She rides between the duke--the tall figure that you may recognize by
his long beard--and the page carrying a hooded falcon," he answered.

Surely this evidence should have put my mind at rest concerning my
hallucination that Yolanda was Mary of Burgundy; but when we reached
the inn and Max told me of his conversation with Yolanda the riddle
again sprang up like a jack-in-the-box. I felt that I was growing weak
in mind. Yolanda's desire to tell Max her secret, and her refusal; her
longing for human sympathy, and the lack of it; her wish that he should
remain in Peronne for a month--all these made me feel that she was
the princess.

I could not help hoping that Hymbercourt was mistaken in pointing out
Her Highness. She rode in the shadow of the buildings and the moon was
less than half full. Yolanda might have wished to deceive us by pointing
out the princess while we watched the cavalcade from Castleman's garden.
The burgher and Twonette might have been drawn into the plot against us
by the impetuous will of this saucy little witch. Many things, I
imagined, had happened which would have appeared absurd to a sane
man--but I was not sane. I wished to believe that Yolanda was the
princess, and I could not get the notion out of my head.

Yolanda's forwardness with Max, if she were Mary of Burgundy, could
easily be explained on the ground that she was a princess, and was
entitled to speak her mind. I was sure she was a modest girl, therefore,
if she were of lowly birth, she would have hesitated to speak so plainly
to Max. So, despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, I refused to
be convinced that Yolanda was not Mademoiselle de Burgundy. I loved the
thought so dearly that I could not and would not part with it. That
night, while I lay pondering over the riddle, I determined to do no more
guessing, and let the Fates solve it for me. They might give me the
answer soon if I would "give it up."

The next evening we went to Castleman's house, but we did not see
Yolanda. Frau Kate said she was in