the morning. Max tried hard to suppress his exuberance of spirit, and
Yolanda laved him in the sunshine of her smiles.

Within three hours we were safely housed at a village by the Rhine.
Castleman, finding me alone, said:--

"You, Sir Karl, and Sir Max little know the value of the friend you have
made this day."

"I thank you, good Castleman," I answered, hardly liking so great an air
of condescension on the part of a burgher. An afterthought suggested
that perhaps Castleman had not referred to himself as the friend we had
made. Strange thoughts and speculations had of late been swarming in my
mind until they had almost taken the form of a refrain, "Who is
Yolanda?" Though the question repeated itself constantly by day and by
night, I received no whisper of an answer.

We travelled slowly, and it was not until the second day after our
conflict with the Black Riders that we found ourselves near Strasburg. A
league from the city gates we met Raoul de Rose, a herald of the Duke of
Burgundy. Yolanda recognized his banner at a distance and hastily veiled
herself. Twonette remained unveiled.

We halted, and De Rose, who was travelling alone, safe under a herald's
privileges, drew rein beside Castleman and me, who had been riding in
advance of our cavalcade. While Castleman was talking to De Rose,
Yolanda and Twonette rode forward, passing on that side of the highway
which left Castleman and me between them and the herald.

"Ah, good Castleman," said De Rose, "you are far from home these