Notwithstanding the idle, happy life we were leading, I was anxious to
begin our journey to Burgundy. Just what would--or could--happen when we
should reach that land of promise--perhaps I should say of no promise--I
did not know. I hoped that by some happy turn of fortune--perhaps
through Twonette's help--Max might be brought to meet Mary of Burgundy.
I had all faith in his ability to please her, or any woman, but what
advantage he could gain by winning her regard I could not guess. The
lady's personal preference would cut no figure in the choosing of a
husband. Her father would do that for her, and she would be powerless
against the will of a man whose chief impulses were those of a mad bull.
This arrogant duke, without so much as a formal withdrawal, had ignored
Duke Frederick's acceptance and had contracted his daughter's hand to
the Dauphin of France, who was a puny, weak-minded boy of fourteen.

Should Max and I go to Burgundy and say to Charles, "This is Maximilian
of Styria, to whom you offered your daughter in marriage," his answer
might be a sword thrust. Should the duke learn of our unbidden presence
in his domain, his love for making enemies would probably bring us into
trouble. Therefore, though I ardently wished to begin the journey, I had
no real cause to hope for good results, though there were many reasons
to fear the outcome of our adventures.

One may well ask why I continued in a course so dangerous. My answer is:
A man travels the road of his destiny. The Fates sometimes hunt out a
man for their purposes and snatch him from his hiding-place in the
by-ways, but they usually choose from the scenes of great events their
victims or their favorites. The man who fears to be their victim is
seldom chosen for their favorite. I should rather be their victim than
be overlooked; and what I should have chosen for myself I desired for