Yolanda: Maid of Burgundy Part 40

"Aye!" echoed the friars. "Whence else did it come? Whence, my Lord d'Hymbercourt, whence?"

I had noticed our Irish servant Michael standing near one of the friars.

At this point in the conversation the Irishman plucked me by the sleeve, pointed to a friar, and whispered a word in my ear. Like a stone from a catapult I sprang on the friar indicated, threw him to the ground, and drew from under his black ca.s.sock an arquebuse.

"Here is the shaft from G.o.d!" I exclaimed, holding the arquebuse up to view. Then I kneeled on the prostrate wretch and clutched his throat.

Anger gathered in my brain as lightning cl.u.s.ters about a mountain top. I threw aside the arquebuse and proceeded to kill the canting mendicant. I do not know that I killed him; I hope I did. I cannot speak with certainty on that point, for I was quickly thrown away from him by the avenging mob that rushed upon us and tore the fellow limb from limb. The other friars were set upon by the populace that had witnessed the combat from without the lists, and were beaten so unmercifully that one of them died. Of the other's fate I know nothing, but I have my secret desires.

"Kill the Italians! Murder the a.s.sa.s.sins! Down with the mercenaries,"

cried the populace, who hated the duke's guard. The barriers were broken down, and an interesting battle ensued. Surely the people got their full satisfaction of blood and excitement that day. The Italians drew their swords, but, being separated, they were at a disadvantage, though their a.s.sailants carried only staves. I expected the duke to stop the fight, but he withdrew to a little distance and watched it with evident interest. My interest was more than evident; it was uproarious. I have never spent so enjoyable a day. The fight raged after Max and I left, and there was many a sore head and broken bone that night among the Italian mercenaries of the Duke of Burgundy.

When Max and I returned to Peronne, we went to the n.o.ble church of St.

Jean and offered our humble grat.i.tude. Max, having thrown off his anger, proposed to buy a ma.s.s for the dead friar; but I was for leaving him in purgatory where he belonged, and Max, as usual, took my advice.

On reaching the inn, Max cried loudly for supper. His calmness would have done credit to a hardened warrior. There was at least one hardened warrior that was not calm. I was wrought almost to a pitch of frenzy and could not eat, though the supper prepared by Grote was a marvel in its way. The old man, usually grave and crusty, after the manner of German hosts, actually bent his knee to Max and said:--

"My poor house has entertained kings and princes; but never has it had so great an honor as that which it now has in sheltering you."

That night the duke came with Hymbercourt to honor us at the inn. Each spoke excitedly and warmly. Max seemed to be the only calm man in Peronne.

CHAPTER XVIII

YOLANDA OR THE PRINCESS?

After these adventures we could no longer conceal Max's ident.i.ty, and it soon became noised about that he was Count of Hapsburg. But Styria was so far away, and so little known, even to courtiers of considerable rank, that the fact made no great stir in Peronne. To Frau Kate and Twonette the disclosure came with almost paralyzing effect.

The duke remained with us until late in the night, so Max and I did not go over to the House under the Wall. When we were alone in our room, Max said:

"The Princess Mary has treated me as if I were a boy."

"She saved your life," I returned. "Calli would certainly have killed you had she not acted quickly."

"I surely owe her my life," said Max, "though I have little knowledge of what happened after I fell from my horse until I rose to my feet by her help. I complain of her conduct in deceiving me by pretending to be a burgher maiden. It was easily done, Karl, but ungraciously."

"You are now speaking of Yolanda," I said, not knowing what the wishes of the princess might be in regard to enlightening him. He looked at me and answered:--

"Karl, if a woman's face is burned on a man's heart, he knows it when he sees it."

"You know Yolanda's face, certainly, and I doubt if Yolanda will thank you for mistaking another's for it."

"I have made no mistake, Karl," he answered.

"I am not so sure," I replied. "The girl you placed in my arms seemed taller by half a head than Yolanda. I noticed her while she was standing. She seemed rounder and much heavier in form; but I, too, thought she was Yolanda, and, after all, you may be right."

"I caught but a glimpse of her face, and that poorly," said Max. "It is difficult to see anything looking downward out of a helmet; one must look straight ahead. But the glimpse I had of her face satisfied me."

"Do not be too sure, Max. I once took another man for myself." Max laughed. "I am sure no one could have told us apart. He was the Pope, and I his cousin. Yolanda herself once told me--I believe she has also told you--that she has the honor to resemble the princess."

I did not wish to lie to Max, and you will note that I did not say the princess was not Yolanda. Still, I wished him to remain ignorant upon the important question until Yolanda should see fit to enlighten him. I was not sure of her motive in maintaining the alias, though I was certain it was more than a mere whim. How great it was I could not know.

Should she persist in it I would help her up to the point of telling Max a downright falsehood. There I would stop.

We spent two evenings at Castleman's, but did not see Yolanda. On the first evening, after an hour of listlessness, Max hesitatingly asked:--

"Where is Yo--that is, the princess has not been here this evening."

"The princess!" exclaimed Frau Kate. "No, she has not been here this evening--nor the duke, nor the king of France. No t.i.tled person, Sir Count, save yourself, has honored us to-day. Our poor roof shelters few such."

"I mean Yolanda," said Max. Good-natured Frau Kate laughed softly, and Twonette said, with smiling serenity:--

"Yolanda's head will surely be turned, Sir Count, when she hears you have called her the princess. So much greatness thrust upon her will make it impossible for us to live with her."

"She rules us all as it is, sweet soul," said Castleman.

"Yolanda is ill upstairs, Sir Count," said Frau Kate. "She wanted to come down this evening, but I commanded otherwise. Twonette, go to her.

She will be lonely."

Twonette rose, courtesied, and departed. This splendid bit of acting almost made me doubt that Yolanda was the princess, and it shook Max's conviction to its very foundation.

I wish to warn you that the deception practised upon Max by Yolanda will seem almost impossible, except on the hypothesis that Max was a very simple fellow. But the elaborate scheme designed and executed by this girl, with the help of the Castlemans and myself,--all of whom Max had no reason to distrust,--would have deceived any man. Max, though simple and confiding where he trusted,--judging others' good faith by his own,--was shrewd for his years, and this plan of Yolanda's had to be faultless, as it really was, to mislead him.

On the morning of the fourth day after the trial by combat, Yolanda made her appearance at Castleman's, looking pale and large-eyed. Max and I had walked down to the House under the Wall before going to dine with the duke. Soon after we were seated Twonette left, and within five minutes Yolanda came suddenly upon us in the long parlor. She ran to Max, grasping both his hands. For a moment she could only say, "Max, Max," and he remained silent.

When she recovered control of her voice she said:--

"How proud we are of you, Sir Max! Uncle and aunt have told me how brave and merciful you were at the combat."

"Your Highness surely knows all that can be told on the subject, since you were there and took so active a part in the adventure," answered Max. "It is I who should be grateful, and I am. I owe my life to Your Highness."

"You honor me too much, Sir Max," said Yolanda, looking up with surprise and bowing low before him. "Let my elevation be gradual that I may grow accustomed to my rank. Make of me first a great lady, and then, say, a countess. Afterward, if I prove worthy, call me princess."

"We will call you a princess now, Your Highness," answered Max, not to be driven from his position.

"Very well," cried Yolanda, with a laugh and a sweeping courtesy. "If you will have me a princess, a princess I'll be. But I will not be the Princess of Burgundy. She saved your life, and I am jealous of her--I hate her."

She stamped her foot, and the angry gleam in her eyes was genuine. There could be no doubt that she was jealous of the princess. I could not account for her unique att.i.tude toward herself save on one hypothesis: she was, even to herself, two distinct persons. Yolanda was a happy burgher girl; Mary was a wretched princess. The two widely differing conditions under which she lived were so distinct, and were separated by a gulf so broad, that to her the princess and the burgher girl were in no way related.

With change of condition there was always a change of person. The unhappy princess would come down the stairway in the wall; G.o.d would kindly touch her, and lo! she was transformed into a happy Yolanda.

Yolanda's light feet would climb the dark stone steps, and G.o.d was once more a frowning father. There must also be added Max's share in her emotions. Perhaps she feared the princess as she would have dreaded a rival; since she longed with all her pa.s.sionate, tender heart to win Max for herself only. It would have been an easy task, as princess, to win him or any man; but if she could win him as Yolanda, the burgher girl, the prize would be the greatest that could fall to a woman.

The true situation dawned upon me as I stood before Max and watched Yolanda. I thought of her adroit plan to make trouble with France, and I wanted to shout for joy. The impossible might yet happen. G.o.d's hand surely had been in our journeying to Burgundy. Max might yet win this peerless princess, this priceless girl; or, reverse it if you choose, Mary of Burgundy might win this peerless man, and might at the same time attain the unutterable joy of knowing that she had won him for her own sake.

Perhaps her yearning had led her to hope that he might in the end be willing to fling behind him his high estate for the sake of a burgher girl. Then, when she had brought him to that resolution, what a joy it would be to turn upon him and say: "I am not a burgher girl. I am Princess Mary of Burgundy, and all these things which you are willing to forego for my sake you may keep, and you may add to them the fair land of Burgundy!" Her high estate and rich domains, now the tokens of her thralldom, would then be her joy, since she could give them to Max.

While these bright hopes were filling my mind, Yolanda was playing well her part. She, too, evidently meant to tell no lies, though she might be forced to act many. Her fiery outburst against the Princess of Burgundy astonished Max and almost startled me. Still, the conviction was strong with him that Yolanda was Mary.

"If--if you are the princess, Yo--Yolanda," said Max, evidently wavering, "it were ungracious to deceive me."

"But I _am_ the princess," cried Yolanda, lifting her head and walking majestically to and fro. "Address me not by that low, plebeian name, Yolanda."