s own plans and, right or wrong,
clung to them. He would, on rare occasions, listen to Hymbercourt,--a
man of few words, who gave advice as if he were lending a crown,--but
the suggestions of others antagonized him.

The question before the council this morning was: Should the duke's army
carry provisions, or should it take them from the countries through
which it was to pass? Charles favored the latter course, and it was
agreed upon. The people of non-belligerent states should be paid for the
provisions that were taken; that is, theoretically they should be paid.
The Swiss should furnish provision, gratis, and that doubtless would be
terribly practical.

On each of the three evenings intervening between the day of this
council and the departure of the army, we saw Yolanda at Castleman's.
She was always waiting when we arrived. She had changed in many
respects, but especially in her attitude regarding Max. She was kind and
gentle, but shy. Having dropped her familiar manner, she did not go near
him, but sat at a distance, holding Twonette's hand, and silently but
constantly watching him, as if she were awaiting something. Her eyes, at
times, seemed to be half-indignant interrogation points. At other times
I could see in them doubt, waiting, and hope--hope almost tired
with yearning.

It was no small love that she wanted from Max. She had hoped--perhaps I
should say she had longed with little hope--that he would, for the sake
of the burgher girl, Yolanda, be willing to turn his back on his family
and his land. But now he was leaving, and her dream was about to close,
since Max would probably never come back to her.

Not the least painful of Yolanda's emotions was the knowledge that she
could insure Max's return by telling him that she was the Princess of
Burgundy. But she did not want this man whom she loved so dearly, and
who, she knew, loved her, if she must win him as princess. She was
strangely impelled to reject a reprieve from a life of wretchedness,
unless it came through the high court of love.

Max, in speaking to me about his return, had wavered many times. One day
he would return; the next, he would swallow the bitter draught fate had
in store for him. He was a great, honest soul, and to such the call of
duty is compelling.

On the evening before our departure we went to sup with Castleman. On
our way down to the House under the Wall, Max said:--

"Karl, my duty is clear. I must not return to Peronne.