Max," I responded. "That day was one of mutual
conquest. That is the prime condition of friendship: mutual conquest and
mutual surrender. But you must have other friends than me. You see I am
not jealous. You must have friends of your own age."

"I now realize why I have hungered all my life," said Max, "though I
have never before known: I longed for friends. Is it not strange that I
should find them among these low-born people? It surely cannot be wrong
for me to live as I do, though father and mother would doubtless deem it
criminal."

"These good burgher folk are making you better and broader and
stronger," I answered. "But there is one thing I want to suggest: you
are devoting too much of your time to the brown-eyed little maid. You
must seek favor with Twonette. She is harmless, and through her you may,
by some freak of fortune, reach the goal of your desires. With the
prestige of your family and the riches of Burgundy, you may become the
most powerful man in the world, save the Pope."

"Perhaps Fraeulein Yolanda is also acquainted with the Princess Mary,"
responded Max, half reluctantly speaking Mary's name.

"No," I answered, "she is not." I asked her if she were. She laughed at
the suggestion, and said: 'Oh, no, no, the princess is a very proud
person and very exclusive. She knows but one burgher girl in Peronne, I
am told. That one is Twonette, and I believe she treats her most
ungraciously at times. I would not endure her snubs and haughty ways as
Twonette does. I seek the friendship of no princess. Girls of my own
class are good enough for me. "Twonette, fetch me a cup of wine."
"Twonette, thread my needle." "Twonette, you are fat and lazy and sleep
too much." "Twonette, stand up." "Twonette, sit down." Faugh! I tell you
I want none of these princesses, no, not one of them. I hate princesses,
and I tell you I doubly hate this--this--' She did not say whom she
doubly hated. She is a forward little witch, Max. She laughed merrily at
my questions concerning the princess, and asked me if we were going to
Burgundy to storm Mary's heart. 'Who is to win her?' she asked. 'You,
Sir Karl, or Sir Max? It must be you. Sir Max is too slow and dignified
even to think of scaling the walls of a maiden fortress. It must be you,
Sir Karl.' The saucy little elf rose from her chair, bowed low before me
and said, 'I do liege homage to the future Duke of Burgundy.' Then she
danced across the room, laughing at my discomfiture.