had us home again, nothing
could induce him to start out with such a cargo of merchandise."

"Well he may be fearful," I answered. "Where one's greatest treasure is,
there is his greatest fear, but peace reigns on the road to Burgundy,
and I hope your good uncle's fears are without ground save in his love."

"I hear you are to accompany us, and of course we shall be safe," she
said, the shadow of a smile playing suspiciously about her mouth and
dancing in her eyes.

"Yes, I am to have that great _honor_," I replied, bowing very low. I,
too, could be sarcastic.

"Does the--will the--the gentleman who is with you accompany us?" asked
Fraeulein Yolanda. So! These maidens of Burgundy had already seen my
handsome Max! This one would surely be tempting him with her eyes and
her irresistible little smile.

"Yolanda!" exclaimed serene Twonette. Yolanda gave no heed.

"Yes, Fraeulein," I responded. "He goes with us. Do you live in Peronne?"

"Y-e-s," she replied hesitatingly. "Where is your home and your
friend's?"

"Yolanda!" again came in tones of mild remonstrance from Fraeulein
Antoinette. The dimples again ignored the warning and waited for
my answer.

"We have no home at present save the broad earth, Fraeulein," I
responded.

"You cannot occupy it all," she retorted, looking roguishly up to me.

"No," I responded, "we are occupying this part of the earth at present,
but we hope soon to occupy Burgundy."

"Please leave a small patch of that fair land for Twonette and me," she
answered, in mock entreaty. After a short pause she continued:--

"It seems easier for you to ask questions than to answer them."

"Fraeulein," I responded, "your question is not easily answered. I was
born in Italy. I lived for many years in the East, and--"

"I did not ask for your biography," she said, interrupting me. I did not
notice the interruption, but continued:--

"I spent six years in your fair land of Burgundy. My mother was a
Walloon. I dearly love her people, and hope that my home may soon be
among them."

The girl's face had been slightly clouded, but when I spoke lovingly of
the Walloons, the dimples again played around her mouth and a smile
brightened her eyes.

"I also am a Walloon," she answered; "and your friend? He surely is not
Italian: he is too fair."

"The Lombards are fair," I answered, "and the Guelphs, you know, are of
Lombardy. You may have heard of the Houses of Guelph and of Pitti."

"I have ofte