"That is true," I responded. "My name, Karl, is German. Few names nowadays keep to their own country. Your name, Yolanda, for example, is Italian."
"Is that true?" she answered inquiringly, taking up a piece of lace. I saw that the interview was closing. After a moment's hesitation Yolanda turned quickly to me and said:--
"You and your friend may sup with us this evening in the dining room of our hostess. We take supper at five."
The invitation was given with all the condescension of a noble lady. Twonette ventured:--
"What will father say, Yolanda?"
"I can guess what uncle will say, but we will give him his say and take our own way. Nonsense, Twonette, if we are to journey to Peronne with these gentlemen, our acquaintance with them cannot begin too soon. Come, Sir Karl, and--and bring your young friend, Sir Maximilian."
It was clear to my mind that, without my young friend, Sir Maximilian, I should not have had the invitation. Yolanda then turned to Franz and his silks, and I, who had always thought myself of some importance, was dismissed by a burgher girl. I soothed my vanity with the thought that beauty has its own prerogatives.
Without being little, Yolanda was small; without nobility, she had the haute mien. But over and above all she had a sweet charm of manner, a saucy gentleness, and a kindly grace that made her irresistible. When she smiled, one felt like thanking God for the benediction.
That evening at five o'clock Max and I supped with Frau Franz. The good frau and her husband sat at either end of the table, Castleman, his daughter, and Yolanda occupied one side, while I sat by Max opposite them. If Castleman had offered objection to the arrangement, he had been silenced.
I was especially anxious that Max should devote himself to Twonette, but, as I had expected, Yolanda's attractions were far too great to be resisted. There was a slight Walloon accent in her French and German (we all spoke both languages) that gave to her voice an exquisite cadence. I spoke to her in Walloonish, and she was so pleased that she seemed to nestle toward me. In the midst of an animated conversation she suddenly became silent, and I saw her watching Max's hand. I thought she was looking at his ring. It was the one that Mary of Burgundy had given him.