“In this, mother.  ‘Now’ is a little word of three letters, n-o-v.  See, mother, the letter ‘v’ is not perfectly made.  We will extend the first prong upward, cross it and make ‘t’ of it, using the second prong as a flourish.  Then the letter will read, ’begs that His Majesty of France will not move toward the immediate consummation of the treaty.’  What could be more natural than that my father should wish nothing of importance to occur until after this war with Switzerland is over?  The French king, of course, will answer that he will not move in the matter, and his letter will throw father into a delightful frenzy of rage.  It may even induce him to declare war against France, and to break off the treaty of marriage when he returns from Switzerland.  He has often done battle for a lesser cause.  It will at least prevent the marriage for the present.  It may prevent it forever.”

“Surely that cannot be; King Louis will immediately explain the mistake to your father,” suggested Margaret.

“But father, you know, will not listen to an explanation if he fears it may avert blows,” returned Yolanda; “and he will be sure not to believe King Louis whose every word he doubts.  I shall enjoy King Louis’ efforts to explain.  ‘Hypocrite,’ ‘liar,’ ‘coward,’ ‘villain,’ will be among father’s most endearing terms when speaking of His Majesty.  If by chance the error of ‘not’ for ‘now’ be discovered, the Bishop of Cambrai and father will swear it is King Louis who has committed the forgery.  But should the worst come, our ‘t’ will have answered its purpose, at least for the present.  The bishop may suffer, but I care not.  He did his part in bringing about this marriage treaty, bribed, doubtless, by King Louis’ gold.  In any case, we have no reason to constitute ourselves the bishop’s guardians.  We have all we can do to care for ourselves—­and more.”

She sprang to her feet and danced about the room, ardently kissing the letter she had so recently dreaded.

“Mary, you frighten me,” said the duchess.  “If we should be discovered in changing this letter, I do believe your father would kill us.  I do not know that it would be right to make the alteration.  It would be forgery, and that, you know, is a crime punishable by death.”

“We shall not be discovered,” said Mary.  “You must have no part in this transaction, mother.  Father would not kill me; I am too valuable as a chattel of trade.  With my poor little self he can buy the good-will of kings and princes.  I am more potent than all his gold.  This alteration can be no sin; it is self-defence.  Think how small it is, mother.  It is only a matter of the crossing of a ‘t.’  But I care not how great the crime may be; I believe, mother, I would commit murder to save myself from the fate father wishes to put upon me.”

“You frighten me, child,” said Margaret.  “I tremble in terror at what you propose to do.”

“I, too, am trembling, mother,” sighed Yolanda, “but you must now leave the room.  You must know nothing of this great crime.”