"Her freedom is less than that of any serf. She is bound hand and foot
by the chains of her birth. She is more to be pitied than the poorest
maiden in Burgundy. The saddest of all captives is she who is chained to
a throne."

"That surely is the bitterest draught fate offers to mortal man," sighed
Max.

"Yes," whispered Yolanda, huskily. "One cannot rebel; one may not even
kill one's self when one is condemned to live. One can do nothing but
endure and wait in haunting fear and, in rare moments, hope against a
million chances."

Evidently she meant us to know that she sorrowed for Max's martyrdom,
though how she had learned of his true station in life I could
not guess.

"It is strange," said I to Castleman, when Yolanda and Twonette had left
us, "that Fräulein Yolanda, who seems to be all laughter and
thoughtlessness, should be so well informed upon the affairs of princes
and princesses, and should take this public matter so much to heart."

"Yes, she is a strange, unfortunate girl," answered Castleman, "and
truly loves her native land. She would, I believe, be another Joan of
Arc, had she the opportunity. She and her father do not at all agree. He
wholly fails to comprehend her."

"Is her father your brother?" I asked. I felt a sense of impertinence in
putting the question, but my curiosity was irresistible.