ger
to the floor and stepping back from the duke. A soft ripple of laughter
was heard in the ladies' gallery.

"No, it is not I that am mistaken," said Charles. "It is Campo-Basso and
his friends. Count Calli, prepare to give the combat to this knight,
whoever he may be, and God have mercy on your soul, for the day of your
death is at hand."

Another ripple of soft laughter came from the ladies' gallery.

"I cannot fight him," wailed Calli. "I am suffering from a broken arm.
My horse fell with me three weeks ago, as Your Grace well knows."

"When your arm mends, you must fight and prove your cause, or by the
soul of God, you hang! We'll make a fete of this combat, and another of
your funeral. There shall be a thousand candles, and masses sufficient
to save the soul of Satan himself. My Lord Campo-Basso, let not the like
of this happen again. Vengeance in Burgundy is mine, not my Italians'.
Heralds, dismiss the company. These men are free."

All departed save Castleman, Hymbercourt, Max, and myself, who remained
at the duke's request.

"If you will remain at the castle, you are most welcome," said Charles,
addressing Max and me.

I would have jumped at the offer, but Max thanked the duke and declined.

"We will, with Your Grace's permission, remain at Grote's inn for a
short time and then ask leave to depart from Burgundy."

The duke answered:--

"As you will. I do not press you. If you change your mind, come to the
castle, and you will be very welcome."

He turned and, with brief adieu, left the great-hall by the small door
near the dais. Castleman, Hymbercourt, and Max passed out through the
great doors, and I was about to follow them when I was startled by the
voice I had heard in the night:--

"Little Max, Little Max," came softly from the ladies' gallery.

I paused to hear more, but all was silent in the great hall. The words
could have come from no other lips than Yolanda's--Mary's. True, I
reasoned, Yolanda might be one of the ladies of the court, perhaps a
near relative of the duke. Once the horrifying thought that he was her
lover came to my mind, but it fled instantly. There was no evil
in Yolanda.

Max did not hear the voice. I intended to tell him of it when we should
reach the inn, and I thought to tell him also that I believed Yolanda
was the Princess Mary. I changed my mind, however, and again had reason
to be thankful for my silence.

CHAPTER XII

A LIVE WREN PIE

The next day c