"She would have made you very happy, Sir Max. Her estates would have compensated for all losses elsewhere."
"You know, that is not true, Yolanda," said Max, earnestly.
"I am not sure, Sir Max," responded the girl, "and do not wish to be sure. I will see you at Metz, and there we may part. It is our fate. We must not be doleful, Sir Max, we must be--we must be--happy and brave." Her poor little effort to be happy and brave was piteous.
Castleman soon fell back with Yolanda, and Max rode forward beside me.
At midnight we offsaddled by a stream in a forest and allowed our horses and mules to rest until sunrise. Then we took up our journey again, and by forced marches reached Metz one morning an hour before dawn. We waited in a drizzling rain till the gates opened, and, after a long parley with the warder, entered the city. We were all nearly exhausted, and our poor mules staggered along the streets hardly able to carry their burdens another step. Two had fallen a half-league outside of Metz; and three others fell with their loads within the city gates.
Castleman had determined to stop with a merchant friend, and after what seemed a long journey from the gates we halted at the merchant's house. Our host left us in his parlor while he went to arrange for breakfast. When he had gone Castleman turned to me:--
"You and Sir Max will, if you please, find good lodging at the Great Tun. My friend will send a man in advance to bespeak your comfort."
Max and I rose to leave, and Yolanda offered him her hand, saying:--
"It may be that we are to part here at Metz, but I will send for you soon and will see you before we leave, and--and--" She could not speak further; tears were in her eyes and her voice. It was not so easy after all to be happy and brave.
"You will not fail to send for me?" asked Max, clinging to her hand.