“But, Fraeulein,” I answered, “the duke has for years—­ever since before his father’s death—­been wasting his money, sacrificing his soldiers, and despoiling his land by wars, prosecuted to no good end.  He has conquered large territory, but he has paid for it with the blood of his people.  Neither they nor he are the better because of those accessions, and the duke has made enemies who will one day surely wrest them from him.  A brave prince should not fear to be called a coward because of an act that will bring peace and happiness to his subjects and save their lives, their liberties, and their estates.  That great end will ennoble any means.  The subjects of Burgundy are frugal and peace-loving.  They should be protected from the cruel cost of useless war.  I would not criticise Duke Charles, whose bravery is beyond compare, but for the sake of his people I could wish that his boldness were tempered with caution.  Policy, not blows, appears to me the only way out of his present and imminent danger.”

“Perhaps you are right, Sir Karl,” answered Yolanda, “but I advise you to keep your views to yourself when you reach Burgundy.  Should they come to the duke’s ears, you might lose yours.”

“Indeed, Fraeulein, your warning is unnecessary,” I responded laughingly.  “I already know the disposition of the duke toward those who disagree with him.  His ungovernable passions will surely lead him to a terrible end.  Bravery, if wise, is one of the noblest attributes of men.  The lack of wisdom makes it the most dangerous.  Duke Charles ought to temper his courage with love for his people.  He should fight, when he must, with wise bravery.  If he should die, God pity the poor people of Burgundy unless their princess choose a husband both wise and brave.”

“But she will not be allowed to choose,” cried Yolanda, passionately.  “Her freedom is less than that of any serf.  She is bound hand and foot by the chains of her birth.  She is more to be pitied than the poorest maiden in Burgundy.  The saddest of all captives is she who is chained to a throne.”

“That surely is the bitterest draught fate offers to mortal man,” sighed Max.

“Yes,” whispered Yolanda, huskily.  “One cannot rebel; one may not even kill one’s self when one is condemned to live.  One can do nothing but endure and wait in haunting fear and, in rare moments, hope against a million chances.”

Evidently she meant us to know that she sorrowed for Max’s martyrdom, though how she had learned of his true station in life I could not guess.

“It is strange,” said I to Castleman, when Yolanda and Twonette had left us, “that Fraeulein Yolanda, who seems to be all laughter and thoughtlessness, should be so well informed upon the affairs of princes and princesses, and should take this public matter so much to heart.”

“Yes, she is a strange, unfortunate girl,” answered Castleman, “and truly loves her native land.  She would, I believe, be another Joan of Arc, had she the opportunity.  She and her father do not at all agree.  He wholly fails to comprehend her.”