Perhaps her yearning had led her to hope that he might in the end be
willing to fling behind him his high estate for the sake of a burgher
girl. Then, when she had brought him to that resolution, what a joy it
would be to turn upon him and say: "I am not a burgher girl. I am
Princess Mary of Burgundy, and all these things which you are willing to
forego for my sake you may keep, and you may add to them the fair land
of Burgundy!" Her high estate and rich domains, now the tokens of her
thralldom, would then be her joy, since she could give them to Max.

While these bright hopes were filling my mind, Yolanda was playing well
her part. She, too, evidently meant to tell no lies, though she might be
forced to act many. Her fiery outburst against the Princess of Burgundy
astonished Max and almost startled me. Still, the conviction was strong
with him that Yolanda was Mary.

"If--if you are the princess, Yo--Yolanda," said Max, evidently
wavering, "it were ungracious to deceive me."

"But I _am_ the princess," cried Yolanda, lifting her head and walking
majestically to and fro. "Address me not by that low, plebeian
name, Yolanda."

She stepped upon a chair and thence to the top of the great oak table
that stood in the middle of the room. Drawing the chair up after her she
placed it on the table, and, seating herself on this improvised throne,
lifted one knee over the other, after the manner of her father. She
looked serenely about her in a most amusing imitation of the duke, and
spoke with a deep voice:--