loved an ideal. I suppose most men and every woman will understand his
condition. It was truly an ardent love.

Max kept Hymbercourt's letters, and would hide himself on the
battlements by the hour reading them, dreaming the dreams of youth and
worshipping at the feet of his ideal,--fair Mary of Burgundy, his
unknown lady-love.

Before the arrival of the messenger from Duke Charles, Max spoke little
of the Burgundian princess; but the message gave her a touch of reality,
and he began to open his heart to me--his only confidant.

There seemed to have been a reciprocal idealization going on in the
far-off land of Burgundy. My letters to Hymbercourt, in which you may be
sure Max's strength and virtues lost nothing, fell into the hands of
Madame d'Hymbercourt, and thus came under the eyes of Princess Mary.
That fair little lady also built in her heart an altar to an unknown
god, if hints in Hymbercourt's letters were to be trusted. Her maidenly
emotions were probably far more passive than Max's, though I have been
told that a woman's heart will go to great lengths for the sake of an
ideal. Many a man, doubtless, would fall short in the estimation of his
lady-love were it not for those qualities with which she herself
endows him.

Whatever the lady's sentiments may have been, my faith in Hymbercourt's
hints concerning them were strengthened by Mary's kindly letter and the
diamond ring for Max which came with her father's message to Styria.
They were palpable facts, and young Max built an altar in his holy of
holies, and laid them tenderly upon it.