Yolanda: Maid of Burgundy by Charles Major
page 51 of 353 (14%)
page 51 of 353 (14%)
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On one occasion we rode to the Falls of Schaffhausen, and often we were
out upon the river. During these expeditions Yolanda adroitly kept our little party together, and Max could have no private word with her. I had never been so happy as I was during the fortnight at Basel while Castleman was buying silk. I was almost a child again; my fifty odd years seemed to fall from me as an eagle sheds his plumes in spring. We were all happy and merry as a May-day, and our joyousness was woven from the warp and woof of Yolanda's gentle, laughing nature. Without her, our life would have been comfortable but commonplace. During all this time Max pondered in vain upon the remarkable manner in which Yolanda had divined the secret of his ring. He longed to question her, but she would not be questioned until she was ready to answer. On a certain morning near the close of our sojourn in Basel, Max, after many elephantine manoeuvres, obtained Yolanda's promise to walk out with him to a near-by hill in the afternoon. It was a Sabbath day, and every burgher maiden in Basel that boasted a sweetheart would be abroad with him in the sunshine. Max could not help feeling that it was most condescending in him, a prince, to walk out with Yolanda, a burgher maiden. Should any one from Styria meet him, he would certainly sink into the ground, though in a certain way the girl's reluctance seemed to place the condescension with her. After dinner, which we all took together that day, she put him off with excuses until drowsy Uncle Castleman had taken himself off for a nap. Then Yolanda quickly said:-- "Fetch me my hood, Twonette. I shall not need a cloak. I am going to |
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