"I did, my lord."
"Paris is but thirty leagues distant, and you certainly have had sufficient time since leaving us to journey across Europe and back. Did not I command you to make haste?"
"You did, my lord," answered the herald. "King Louis put me off from day to day, always promising me an answer, but giving it only yesterday afternoon when the sun was half below the horizon."
Charles nervously broke the seals of the package, and attempted to read the letter. He failed, and handed it to Campo-Ba.s.so, saying:--
"Read the missive. I already know its contents, but read, my lord, read."
Campo-Ba.s.so read the letter.
"To Our Most Ill.u.s.trious Brother Charles Duke of Burgundy, and Count of Charolois:--
"We recommend us and send Your Grace greeting. We are anxious to pleasure our n.o.ble brother of Burgundy in all things, and heartily desire the marriage between our son and the ill.u.s.trious Princess of Burgundy, but we shall not move toward it until our said n.o.ble brother shall return from Switzerland, nor will we do aught to distract his attention from the perilous business he now has on hand. We pray that the saints may favor his design, and would especially recommend that our n.o.ble brother propitiate with prayers and offerings the holy Saint Hubert. We, ourselves, have importuned this holy saint, and he has proved marvellously helpful on parlous occasions.
"Louis, R."
The duke"s anger was terrible and disgusting to behold. When his transports of rage allowed him to speak, he broke forth with oaths too blasphemous to write on a white page.
"The fawning hypocrite!" he cried. "He thinks to cozen us with his cheap words. The biting insult in his missive is that he takes it for granted that we are so great a fool as to believe him. Even his recommendation of a saint is a lie. The world knows his favorite saint is Saint Andrew.
King Louis spends half his time grovelling on his marrow bones before that saint and the Blessed Virgin. He recommends to us Saint Hubert, believing that his holy saintship will be of no avail."
Charles was right. Sir Philip de Comines, seneschal to King Louis, afterward told me that His Majesty, in writing this letter to the Duke of Burgundy, actually took counsel and devoted much time and thought to the choice of a baneful or impotent saint to recommend to his "n.o.ble brother of Burgundy." Disaster to Louis had once followed supplication to Saint Hubert, and the king hoped that the worthy saint might prove equally unpropitious for Charles. Yolanda"s wonderful "t" was certainly the most stupendous single letter ever quilled. Here were the first-fruits of it.
"Were it not that these self-sufficient Swiss need to be blooded, I would turn my army against France to-morrow," said the duke.
"And have Bourbon and Lorraine upon Your Lordship"s back from the east, Ghent rebelling in the north, and the Swiss pouring in from the south,"
interrupted Hymbercourt.
"You are certainly right, my Lord d"Hymbercourt," replied Charles, sullenly. "They surround us like a pack of starved wolves, ready to spring upon us the moment we are crippled. Burgundy stands alone against all Europe."
"A vast treasure, my lord, attracts thieves," said Hymbercourt.
"Burgundy is the richest land on earth."
"It is, indeed it is," replied the duke, angrily, "and I have no son to keep it after me. But France shall not have it; that I swear upon my knighthood. Write to France, my Lord Bishop of Cambrai, and tell King Louis that my daughter shall not marry his son. Waste no words, my Lord Bishop, in what you call courtesy. We need no double meaning in our missives."
Those who heard the duke"s words knew that he was committing a costly error, but no one dared to suggest as much. One might, with equal success, have flung soft words at a mad bull. Truly that "t"--but I will speak of it no more, though I have a thrill of joy and mirth even now when I think of it.
After many explosions, the duke"s pent-up wrath found vent, and began to subside. Espying Max and me he called us to the throne.
"Have you concluded to join us in our little holiday excursion against these mountain swine?" asked His Grace, addressing us.
"We have, my lord. We shall be proud to serve under the banner of so brave a prince," I answered.
""We have" would have been sufficient, Sir Karl," answered the duke, still surly from the dregs of his wrath. "We hear so many soft words from France that we despise them in the mouths of honest men."
The duke then turned to his seneschal, De Vergy, and spoke in tones that were heard all over the room:--
"My lord, Maximilian, Count of Hapsburg, and Sir Karl de Pitti have consented to join our banners. Enroll them in places of honor, my Lord Seneschal. See that they are supplied with horses, accoutrements, and tents for themselves and their squires, and direct my Lord Treasurer to pay to them upon demand a sum of money of which he shall be duly notified."
When the duke stopped speaking, a murmur of approval ran through the audience--though the Italians had no part in it. The murmur grew clamorous and soon a mighty shout filled the vaulted roof:--
"Long life to the n.o.ble Count of Hapsburg! Burgundy and Styria forever!"
To me, the words seemed delightfully prophetic. Soon afterward the audience was dismissed, and Max and I had the great honor of being asked to join the duke"s council. A council to the Duke of Burgundy was indeed a veritable fifth wheel. He made his own plans and, right or wrong, clung to them. He would, on rare occasions, listen to Hymbercourt,--a man of few words, who gave advice as if he were lending a crown,--but the suggestions of others antagonized him.
The question before the council this morning was: Should the duke"s army carry provisions, or should it take them from the countries through which it was to pa.s.s? Charles favored the latter course, and it was agreed upon. The people of non-belligerent states should be paid for the provisions that were taken; that is, theoretically they should be paid.
The Swiss should furnish provision, gratis, and that doubtless would be terribly practical.
On each of the three evenings intervening between the day of this council and the departure of the army, we saw Yolanda at Castleman"s.
She was always waiting when we arrived. She had changed in many respects, but especially in her att.i.tude regarding Max. She was kind and gentle, but shy. Having dropped her familiar manner, she did not go near him, but sat at a distance, holding Twonette"s hand, and silently but constantly watching him, as if she were awaiting something. Her eyes, at times, seemed to be half-indignant interrogation points. At other times I could see in them doubt, waiting, and hope--hope almost tired with yearning.
It was no small love that she wanted from Max. She had hoped--perhaps I should say she had longed with little hope--that he would, for the sake of the burgher girl, Yolanda, be willing to turn his back on his family and his land. But now he was leaving, and her dream was about to close, since Max would probably never come back to her.
Not the least painful of Yolanda"s emotions was the knowledge that she could insure Max"s return by telling him that she was the Princess of Burgundy. But she did not want this man whom she loved so dearly, and who, she knew, loved her, if she must win him as princess. She was strangely impelled to reject a reprieve from a life of wretchedness, unless it came through the high court of love.
Max, in speaking to me about his return, had wavered many times. One day he would return; the next, he would swallow the bitter draught fate had in store for him. He was a great, honest soul, and to such the call of duty is compelling.
On the evening before our departure we went to sup with Castleman. On our way down to the House under the Wall, Max said:--
"Karl, my duty is clear. I must not return to Peronne. If I do, I fear I shall never leave it."
I did not answer; but I had resolved that he should return, and I intended that my resolution should become a fact. Yolanda was not present at supper, but she appeared soon after we had risen. We sat under the dim light of a lamp in the long room. Yolanda was on the cushioned bench in the shadow of the great chimney, silently clasping Twonette"s hand. Twonette, of course, was silent and serene. Castleman and I talked disjointedly, and Max sat motionless, gazing through the window into the night. After greeting us, Yolanda spoke not a word; but ever in the deep shadow I could see the glow of her eyes looking toward Max. That his heart was filled with a great struggle, I knew, and I believed that Yolanda also knew.
We had many preparations to make before our departure next morning at dawn, so after an hour Max and I rose to leave. Twonette, leaving Yolanda, came to us, and the Castlemans all gave us a hearty G.o.d-speed.
Yolanda sat wordless in the shadow. I went to her and gave her my hand.
"Farewell, Fraulein," I said.
Max followed me closely, and I stepped aside to make way for him. The girl rose and stood irresolute before him. I went to the Castlemans, who were standing at a distance.
"Fraulein--" said Max. But she interrupted him, extending her hands, which he clasped.
"Have you no word for me, Sir Max?" she asked pathetically, tears springing to her eyes. "Are you coming back to me? Have you the right to come into my life as you have done, and to leave me? Does G.o.d impose but one duty on you--that of your birth?"
"Ah, Fraulein," answered Max, huskily, "you know--you know what I suffer."
"I surely do know," she responded, "else I would not speak so plainly.
But answer me, Sir Max. Answer my question. It is my right to know upon what I may depend. Will you come back to me?"
The imperious will of the princess had come to the rescue of Yolanda, the burgher girl.
Max paused before speaking, then grasped her hands fiercely and answered:--
"Before G.o.d, Fraulein, I will come back to you, if I live."
Yolanda sank upon the cushioned bench, covered her face with her hands, and the pent-up storm of sobs and tears broke forth as Max and I pa.s.sed out the door.