s and servant was usual among the
burgher class.

The smaller girl was certainly attractive, but I did not care for her
acquaintance. Antoinette was the one in whose eyes I hoped to find
favor, first for myself and then for Max. By her help I hoped Max might
be brought to meet the Princess of Burgundy when we should reach
Peronne. I had little doubt of Max's success in pleasing Antoinette; I
was not at all anxious that he should please the smaller maid. There was
a saucy glance in her dark eyes, and a tremulous little smile constantly
playing about her red, bedimpled mouth, that boded trouble to a
susceptible masculine heart. Max, with all his simplicity, though not
susceptible, had about him an impetuosity when his interest was aroused
of which I had learned to stand in wholesome dread. I was jealous of any
woman who might disturb his dreams of Mary of Burgundy, and this little
maid was surely attractive enough to turn any man's head her way if she
so desired.

Later in the afternoon I saw Fraeulein Antoinette in the shop looking at
silks and laces. Hoping to improve the opportunity, I approached her,
and was received with a serene and gracious smile. Near Antoinette were
the saucy brown eyes and the bedimpled mouth. Truly they were
exquisitely beautiful in combination, and, old as I was, I could not
keep my eyes from them. The eyes and dimples came quickly to Antoinette,
who presented me to her "Cousin Fraeulein Yolanda Castleman." Fraeulein
Yolanda bowed with a grace one would not expect to find in a burgher
girl, and said with the condescension of a princess:--

"Sir Karl, you pleasure me."

I was not prepared for her manner. She probably was _not_ Antoinette's
maid. A pause followed my presentation which might have been meant by
the brown-eyed maid as permission to withdraw. But I was for having
further words with Antoinette. She, however, stepped back from her
cousin, and, if I was to remain, I must speak to my lady Fraeulein
Yolanda Castleman or remain silent, so I asked,--

"Do you reside in Basel, Fraeulein?"

"No, no," she replied, with no touch of bourgeois confusion, "I am a
Burgundian. Uncle Castleman, after promising Twonette" (I spell the name
as she pronounced it) "and me for years, has brought us on this long
journey into the world. I am enjoying it more than any one can know, but
poor uncle lives in dread of the journey home. He upbraids himself for
having brought us and declares that if he but