"Do you clearly see the danger?" I suggested.

"I clearly see," he responded. "I admire Fräulein Yolanda as I have
never admired any other woman. I respect her as if she were a princess;
but one of the penalties of my birth is that I may not think of her nor
of one of her class. She is not for me; she is a burgher maiden--out of
my reach. For that reason I feel that I should respect her."

The attitude of Max toward Yolanda was a real triumph of skill and
adroitness over inherited convictions and false education. She had
brought him from condescension to deference solely by the magic of her
art. Or am I wrong? Was it her artlessness? Perhaps it was her artful
artlessness, since every girl-baby is born with a modicum of that
dangerous quality.

"Perhaps you are right, Karl," added Max. "I may underrate the power of
this girl. As you have said, she is a little witch. But beneath her
laughter there is a rare show of tenderness and strength, which at
times seems pathetic and almost elfin. You are right, Karl. I will
devote myself to Twonette hereafter. She is like a feather-bed in that
she cannot be injured by a blow, neither can she give one; but
Yolanda--ah, Karl, she is like a priceless jewel that may be shattered
by a blow and may blind one by its radiance."

But Max's devotion to Twonette was a failure. She was certainly willing,
but Yolanda would have none of it, and with no equivocation gave every
one to understand as much. Still, she held Max at a respectful distance.
In fact, this Yolanda handled us all as a juggler tosses his balls. Max
must not be too attentive to her, and he must not be at all attentive to