"It seems easier for you to ask questions than to answer them."
"Fräulein," I responded, "your question is not easily answered. I was born in Italy. I lived for many years in the East, and--"
"I did not ask for your biography," she said, interrupting me. I did not notice the interruption, but continued:--
"I spent six years in your fair land of Burgundy. My mother was a Walloon. I dearly love her people, and hope that my home may soon be among them."
The girl's face had been slightly clouded, but when I spoke lovingly of the Walloons, the dimples again played around her mouth and a smile brightened her eyes.
"I also am a Walloon," she answered; "and your friend? He surely is not Italian: he is too fair."
"The Lombards are fair," I answered, "and the Guelphs, you know, are of Lombardy. You may have heard of the Houses of Guelph and of Pitti."
"I have often heard of them," she answered; then, after a short silence,--"I fear I have asked too many questions." A gentle, apologetic smile lighted her face and won me instantly. I liked her as much as I admired her. I knew that she wanted me to speak of Max, so to please her I continued, even against my inclination:--
"My young friend, Sir Maximilian du Guelph, wanted to see the world. We are very poor, Fräulein, and if we would travel, we must make our way as we go. We have just come from Ulm and Cannstadt, passing through the Black Forest. Sir Max saved the life of our host, and in so doing was grievously wounded. Good Master Franz rewarded us far beyond our deserts, and for the time being we think we are rich."
"The name Maximilian is not Italian," observed Yolanda. "It has an Austrian sound."