a, "I hope she is like him only when he is
pleasing."

"That is probably true," said Max.

"There is where I am really jealous, Max--this princess--" she said,
leaning forward and looking up into his face with unmistakable
earnestness.

"Why?" asked Max, laughing.

"Because men love wealth and high estate. There are scores of men--at
least, so I have been told--eager to marry this princess, who do not
even know that she is not hideous to look upon and vixenish in temper.
They would take her gladly, with any deformity, physical, mental, or
moral, for the sake of possessing Burgundy."

"But I am told she is fair and beautiful," said Max.

"Believe it not," said Yolanda, sullenly. "Whoever heard of a rich
princess who was not beautiful? Anne and Joan, daughters of King Louis,
are always spoken of as paragons of beauty; yet those who know tell me
these royal ladies are hideous. King Louis has nicknamed Joan 'The
Owlet' because she is little, ill-shapen, and black. Anne is tall, large
of bone, fat, and sallow. He should name her 'The Giantess of Beaujeu';
and the little half-witted Dauphin he should dub 'Knight of the Princely
Order of House Rats.'"

That she was deeply in earnest there could be no doubt.

"I hope you do not speak so freely to others," said Max. "If His Grace
of Burgundy should hear of your words he might--"

"I hope you will not tell him," said Yolanda, laughing. "But this Mary!"
she continued, clinging stubbornly to the dangerous topic. "You came to
woo her estates, and in the end you will do so."

I am convinced that the girl was intensely jealous of herself. When she
feared that Max might seek the Princess Mary, her heart brooded over the
thought that he would do so for the sake of her wealth and her domains.

"I have told you once, Fraeulein, what I will do and what I will not. For
your own sake and mine I'll tell you no more," said Max.

"If I were a great princess," said Yolanda, pouting and hanging her
head, "you would not speak so sharply to me." Evidently she was hurt by
Max's words, though they were the expression, not of his displeasure,
but of his pain.

"Fraeulein, forgive me; my words were not meant to be sharp. It was my
pain that spoke. You torture me and cause me to torture myself," said
Max. "To keep a constant curb on one's ardent longing is exhausting. It
takes the heart out of a man. At times you seem to forget that my
silence is my great grief, not my fault. Ah, Fraeule