interrogatively.

"No," answered Franz. "He has a daughter, the Princess Mary, who will
inherit Burgundy. She is said to be as gentle as her father is violent.
Castleman tells me that she is gracious and kind to those beneath her,
and, in my opinion, that is the true stamp of greatness."

Those were healthful words for Max.

"The really great and good have no need to assert their qualities," I
answered.

"Castleman often speaks of the princess," said Franz. "He tells me that
his daughter Antoinette and the Princess Mary have been friends since
childhood--that is, of course, so far as persons so widely separated by
birth and station can be friends."

I briefly told Max what Franz had said concerning Castleman, and the
young fellow was delighted at the prospect of an early start
for Peronne.

In Max's awakening, the radiance of his ideal may have been dimmed, but
if so, the words of Franz restored its lustre. If the boy's fancy had
wandered, it quickly returned to the lady of Burgundy.

I asked Franz if Duke Charles lived at Peronne.

"No, he lives at Ghent," he answered; "but on rare occasions he visits
Peronne, which is on the French border. Duke Philip once lived there,
but Charles keeps Peronne only as his watch-tower to overlook his old
enemy, France. The enmity, I hope, will cease, now that the Princess
Mary is to marry the Dauphin."

This confirmation of a rumor which I had already heard was anything but
welcome. However, it sensitized the feeling Max entertained for his
unknown lady-love, and strengthened his resolution to pursue his
journey to Burgundy at whatever cost.

I led Franz to speak of Burgundian affairs and he continued:--

"The princess and her stepmother, the Duchess Margaret, live at Peronne.
They doubtless found life at Ghent with the duke too violent. It is said
that the duchess is unhappily wedded to the fierce duke, and that the
unfortunate princess finds little favor in her father's eyes because he
cannot forgive her the grievous fault of being a girl."

While Franz was talking I was dreaming. A kind providence had led us a
half-hundred leagues out of our road, through wounds and hardships, to
Basel; but that quiet city might after all prove to be the open doorway
to Max's fortune. My air-castle was of this architecture: Max would win
old Castleman's favor--an easy task. We would journey to Peronne, seek
Castleman's house, pay court to Antoinette--I prayed she might not be
too pr