YOLANDA THE SORCERESS
Several days passed, during which we saw the Castlemans frequently. One
evening after supper, when we were all sitting in the parlor, Yolanda
enticed Max to an adjoining room, on the excuse of showing him an
ancient piece of tapestry. When it had been examined, she seated herself
on a window bench and indicated a chair for Max near by. Among much that
was said I quote the following from memory, as Max told me afterward:--
"So you are from Italy, Sir Max?" queried Yolanda, stealing a glance at
his ring.
"Yes," returned Max.
"From what part, may I ask?" continued the girl, with a slight
inclination of her head to one side and a flash from beneath the
preposterously long lashes toward his hand.
"From--from Rome," stammered Max, halting at even so small a lie.
"Ah, Sir Karl said you were from Lombardy," answered the girl.
"Well--that is--originally, perhaps, I was," he returned.
"Perhaps your family lives in both places?" she asked very seriously.
"Yes, that is the way of it," he responded.
"Were you born in both places?" asked Yolanda, without the shadow of a
smile. Max was thinking of the little lie he was telling and did not
analyze her question.
"No," he answered, in simple honesty, "you see I could not be born in
two places. That would be impossible."
"Perhaps it would be," replied Yolanda, with perfect gravity. Max was
five years her senior, but he was a boy, while she had the self-command
of a quick-witted woman, though she still retained the saucy
impertinence of childhood. Slow-going, guileless Max began to suspect a
lurking intention on Yolanda's part to quiz him.
"Did not Sir Karl say something about your having been born in Styria?"
asked the girl, glancing slyly at the ring.
"No, he did not," answered Max, emphatically. "I suppose I was born in
Rome--no, I mean Lombardy--but it cannot matter much to you, Fräulein,
where I was born if I do not wish to tell."
The direct course was as natural to Max as breathing. The girl was
startled by his abruptness. After a pause she continued:--
"I am sure you are not ashamed of your birthplace, and--"
He interrupted her sharply:--
"I also am sure I am not ashamed of it."
"If you had permitted me to finish," she said quietly, "you would have
had no need to speak so sharply. I spoke seriously. I wanted to say that
I am sure you have no reason to feel ashamed of your birthplace, and
that perhaps I ought not to have asked a question that you evidently do
not want to answer. Uncle says if my curiosity were taken from me, there
would be nothing left but my toes."
Her contrition melted Max at once, and he said:--
I will gladly tell you, Fräulein, if you want to know. I was born--"
"No, no," she interrupted, "you shall not tell me. I will leave you at
once and see you no more if you do. Besides, there is no need to tell
me; I already know. I am a sorceress, a witch. I regret to make the
confession, but it is true; I am a witch."
"I believe you are," answered Max, looking at her admiringly and seating
himself beside her on the window bench. He had learned from Gertrude of
Augsburg and many other burgher girls that certain pleasantries were
more objectionable to them in theory than in practice; but this burgher
girl rose to her feet at his approach and seemed to grow a head taller
in an instant. He quietly took his old place and she took hers. She
continued as if unconscious of what had happened:--
"Yes, I am a sorceress." Then she drew her face close to Max, and,
gazing fixedly into his eyes, said solemnly:--
"I can look into a person's eyes and know if they are telling me the
truth. I can tell their fortunes--past, present, and future. I can tell
them where they were born. I can tell them the history of anything of
value they have. Their jewellery, their--"
"Tell me any one of those things concerning myself," interrupted Max,
suddenly alive with interest.
"No, it is too great a strain upon me," answered the girl, with amusing
gravity.
"I entreat you," said Max, laughing, though deeply interested. "I
believe you can do what you say. I beg you to show me your skill in only
one instance."
The girl gently refused, begging Max not to tempt her.
"No, no, I cannot," she said, "good Father Brantôme has told me it is
sinful. I must not."
Half in jest but all in earnest, Max begged her to try; and, after a
great deal of coaxing, she reluctantly consented to give a very small
exhibition of her powers. Covering her face with her hands, she remained
for the space of a minute as if in deep thought. Then, making a series
of graceful and fantastic passes in the air with her hands, as if
invoking a familiar spirit, she said in low, solemn tones:--
"You may now sit by me, Sir Max. My words must not be heard by any ears
save yours."
Max seated himself beside the girl.
"Give me your word that you will tell no one what I am about to do and
say," she said.
"I so promise," answered Max, beginning to feel that the situation was
almost uncanny.
"Now, place in my hand some jewel or valued article of which I may
speak," she said.
Excepting his sword and dagger, Max owned but one article of value--the
ring Mary of Burgundy had given him. He hesitatingly drew it from his
finger and placed it in the girl's hand. She examined it carefully,
and said:--
"Now, give me your hand, Sir Max." Her hand was not much larger than a
big snowflake in early spring, Max thought, and it was completely lost
to sight when his great fingers closed over it. The velvety softness of
the little hand sent a thrill through his veins, and the firm,
unyielding strength of his clasp was a new, delicious sensation to the
girl. Startled by it, she made a feeble effort to withdraw her hand; but
Max clasped it firmly, and she surrendered. After a short silence she
placed the ring to her forehead, closed her eyes, and drew her face so
near to Max that he felt her warm breath on his cheek. Max was learning
a new lesson in life--the greatest of all. She spoke in soft whispers,
slowly dropping her words one by one in sepulchral tones:--
"What--do--I see--surely I am wrong. No--I see clearly--a lady--a great
lady--a princess. She smiles upon a man. He is tall and young. His face
is fair; his hair falls in long, bright curls like yours. She gives him
this ring; she asks him to be her husband--no--surely a modest maiden
would not do that." She stopped suddenly, snatched her hand from Max,
returned the ring and cried, "No more, no more!"
She tossed her hands in the air, as if to drive off the spirits, and
without another word ran to the parlor laughing, and threw herself on
Uncle Castleman's knee. Max slowly made the sign of the cross and
followed the little enchantress. She had most effectually imposed on
him. He was inclined to believe that she had seen the ring or had heard
of it in Burgundy before the princess sent it; but Yolanda could have
been little more than a child at that time--three years before. Perhaps
she was hardly past fourteen, and one of her class would certainly not
be apt to know of the ring that had been sent by the princess. She might
have received her information from Twonette, who, Franz said, was
acquainted with Mary of Burgundy; but even had Yolanda heard of the
ring, the fact would not have helped her to know it.
After our first evening with the Castlemans we got on famously
together. True, Max and I felt that we were making great concessions,
and I do not doubt that we showed it in many unconscious words and acts.
This certainly was true of Max; but Yolanda's unfailing laughter, though
at times it was provoking, soon brought him to see that too great a
sense of dignity was at times ridiculous. He could not, however, always
forget that he was a Hapsburg while she was a burgher girl, and his good
memory got him many a keen little thrust from her saucy tongue. If Max
resented her sauciness, she ran away from him with the full knowledge
that he would miss her. She was much surer that she pleased and
delighted him than he was that he pleased her, though of the latter fact
she left, in truth, little room for doubt.
Max was very happy. He had never before known a playmate. But here in
Basel the good Franz and his frau, Yolanda, Twonette, fat old Castleman,
and myself were all boys and girls together, snatching the joys of life
fresh from the soil of mother earth, close to which we lived in rustic
simplicity.
Since we had left Styria, our life, with all its hardships, had been a
delight to Max, but it was also a series of constantly repeated shocks.
If the shocks came too rapidly and too hard, he solaced his bruised
dignity with the thought that those who were unduly familiar with him
did not know that he was the heir of the House of Hapsburg. So day by
day he grew to enjoy the nestling comfort of a near-by friend. This, I
grieve to say, was too plainly seen in his relations with Yolanda, for
she unquestionably nestled toward him. She made no effort to conceal her
delight in his companionship, though she most adroitly kept him at a
proper distance. If she observed a growing confidence in Max, she
quickly nipped it by showing him that she enjoyed my companionship or
that of old Franz just as much. On such occasions Max's dignity and
vanity required balm.
"Oh, Karl," he said to me one evening while we were preparing for bed,
"it seems to me I have just wakened to life, or have just got out of
prison. No man can be happy on a pinnacle above the intimate friendships
of his fellow-man and--and woman."
"Yes, 'and woman.' Well put, Max," said I.
Max did not notice my insinuation, but continued:--
"I have lived longer since knowing these lowly friends than in all the
years of my life in Styria. Karl, you have spoiled a good, stiff-jointed
Hapsburg, but you have made a man. If nothing more comes of this journey
into the world than I have already had, I am your debtor for life. What
would my dear old father and mother say if they should see me and know
the life I am leading? In their eyes I should be disgraced--covered
with shame."
"When you go back to Hapsburg," I said, "you can again take up your
old, petrified existence and eat your husks of daily adulation. You will
soon again find satisfaction in the bended knee, and will insist that
those who approach you bow deferentially to your ancestors."
"I shall, of course, return to Hapsburg," he said. "It is my fate, and
no man can change the destiny to which he was born. I must also endure
the bowing and the adulation. Men shall honor my ancestors and respect
in me their descendant, but I shall never again be without friends if it
be in my power to possess them. As I have said, that is difficult for
one placed above his fellow-man."
"There is the trouble with men of your degree," I answered. "Friends are
not like castles, cities, and courtly servitors. Those, indeed, one may
really own; but we possess our friends only as they possess us. Like a
mirror, a friend gives us only what we ourselves give. No king is great
enough to produce his own image unless he stands before the glass."
"Teach me, Karl, to stand before the glass," said Max, plaintively.
"You are before it now, my dear boy," I answered. "These new friends are
giving you only what you give them. With me, you have always been before
the glass."
"That has been true," said Max, "ever since the first day you entered
Hapsburg. Do you remember? I climbed on your knee and said, 'You have a
big, ugly nose!' Mother admonished me, and I quickly made amends by
saying, 'But I like you.'"
"I well remember, Max," I responded. "That day was one of mutual
conquest. That is the prime condition of friendship: mutual conquest and
mutual surrender. But you must have other friends than me. You see I am
not jealous. You must have friends of your own age."
"I now realize why I have hungered all my life," said Max, "though I
have never before known: I longed for friends. Is it not strange that I
should find them among these low-born people? It surely cannot be wrong
for me to live as I do, though father and mother would doubtless deem it
criminal."
"These good burgher folk are making you better and broader and
stronger," I answered. "But there is one thing I want to suggest: you
are devoting too much of your time to the brown-eyed little maid. You
must seek favor with Twonette. She is harmless, and through her you may,
by some freak of fortune, reach the goal of your desires. With the
prestige of your family and the riches of Burgundy, you may become the
most powerful man in the world, save the Pope."
"Perhaps Fräulein Yolanda is also acquainted with the Princess Mary,"
responded Max, half reluctantly speaking Mary's name.
"No," I answered, "she is not." I asked her if she were. She laughed at
the suggestion, and said: 'Oh, no, no, the princess is a very proud
person and very exclusive. She knows but one burgher girl in Peronne, I
am told. That one is Twonette, and I believe she treats her most
ungraciously at times. I would not endure her snubs and haughty ways as
Twonette does. I seek the friendship of no princess. Girls of my own
class are good enough for me. "Twonette, fetch me a cup of wine."
"Twonette, thread my needle." "Twonette, you are fat and lazy and sleep
too much." "Twonette, stand up." "Twonette, sit down." Faugh! I tell you
I want none of these princesses, no, not one of them. I hate princesses,
and I tell you I doubly hate this--this--' She did not say whom she
doubly hated. She is a forward little witch, Max. She laughed merrily at
my questions concerning the princess, and asked me if we were going to
Burgundy to storm Mary's heart. 'Who is to win her?' she asked. 'You,
Sir Karl, or Sir Max? It must be you. Sir Max is too slow and dignified
even to think of scaling the walls of a maiden fortress. It must be you,
Sir Karl.' The saucy little elf rose from her chair, bowed low before me
and said, 'I do liege homage to the future Duke of Burgundy.' Then she
danced across the room, laughing at my discomfiture. She is charming,
Max, but remember Gertrude the Conqueror! Such trifling affairs are well
enough to teach a man the a-b-c of life but one with your destiny ahead
of him must not remain too long in his alphabet. Such affairs are for
boys, Max, for boys."
"Do not fear for me, Karl," answered Max, laughingly. "We are not apt to
take hurt from dangers we see."
"Do you clearly see the danger?" I suggested.
"I clearly see," he responded. "I admire Fräulein Yolanda as I have
never admired any other woman. I respect her as if she were a princess;
but one of the penalties of my birth is that I may not think of her nor
of one of her class. She is not for me; she is a burgher maiden--out of
my reach. For that reason I feel that I should respect her."
The attitude of Max toward Yolanda was a real triumph of skill and
adroitness over inherited convictions and false education. She had
brought him from condescension to deference solely by the magic of her
art. Or am I wrong? Was it her artlessness? Perhaps it was her artful
artlessness, since every girl-baby is born with a modicum of that
dangerous quality.
"Perhaps you are right, Karl," added Max. "I may underrate the power of
this girl. As you have said, she is a little witch. But beneath her
laughter there is a rare show of tenderness and strength, which at
times seems pathetic and almost elfin. You are right, Karl. I will
devote myself to Twonette hereafter. She is like a feather-bed in that
she cannot be injured by a blow, neither can she give one; but
Yolanda--ah, Karl, she is like a priceless jewel that may be shattered
by a blow and may blind one by its radiance."
But Max's devotion to Twonette was a failure. She was certainly willing,
but Yolanda would have none of it, and with no equivocation gave every
one to understand as much. Still, she held Max at a respectful distance.
In fact, this Yolanda handled us all as a juggler tosses his balls. Max
must not be too attentive to her, and he must not be at all attentive to
Twonette. In this arrangement Twonette acquiesced. She would not dare to
lift her eyes to one upon whom Yolanda was looking!
Here was illustrated the complete supremacy of mind over matter.
Castleman, Twonette, Franz and his frau, Max and I, all danced when the
tiny white hand of Yolanda pulled the strings. A kiss or a saucy nod for
Castleman or Twonette, a smile or a frown for Max and me, were the
instruments wherewith she worked. Deftly she turned each situation as
she desired. Max made frequent efforts to obtain a private moment with
her, that he might ask a few questions concerning her wonderful
knowledge of his ring--they had been burning him since the night of her
sorcery--but, though she knew quite well his desire to question her, she
gave him no opportunity.
During the time that Castleman was buying his silks, the members of our
little party grew rapidly in friendship. In culture, education, and
refinement, the Castlemans were far above any burghers I had ever known.
Franz and his wife, though good, simple people, were not at all in
Castleman's class. They felt their inferiority, and did not go abroad
with us, though we supped daily with them. Each evening supper was a
little fête followed by a romp of amusement, songs, and childish games
in the frau's great parlor.
The Castlemans, Max, and I made several excursions into the mountains.
Yolanda and Twonette were in ecstasy at the mountain views, which were
so vividly in contrast with the lowlands of Burgundy.
"These mountains are beautiful," said patriotic Yolanda, "but our
lowlands raise bread to feed the hungry."
On one occasion we rode to the Falls of Schaffhausen, and often we were
out upon the river. During these expeditions Yolanda adroitly kept our
little party together, and Max could have no private word with her.
I had never been so happy as I was during the fortnight at Basel while
Castleman was buying silk. I was almost a child again; my fifty odd
years seemed to fall from me as an eagle sheds his plumes in spring. We
were all happy and merry as a May-day, and our joyousness was woven from
the warp and woof of Yolanda's gentle, laughing nature. Without her, our
life would have been comfortable but commonplace.
During all this time Max pondered in vain upon the remarkable manner in
which Yolanda had divined the secret of his ring. He longed to question
her, but she would not be questioned until she was ready to answer.
On a certain morning near the close of our sojourn in Basel, Max, after
many elephantine manoeuvres, obtained Yolanda's promise to walk out with
him to a near-by hill in the afternoon. It was a Sabbath day, and every
burgher maiden in Basel that boasted a sweetheart would be abroad with
him in the sunshine. Max could not help feeling that it was most
condescending in him, a prince, to walk out with Yolanda, a burgher
maiden. Should any one from Styria meet him, he would certainly sink
into the ground, though in a certain way the girl's reluctance seemed to
place the condescension with her.
After dinner, which we all took together that day, she put him off with
excuses until drowsy Uncle Castleman had taken himself off for a nap.
Then Yolanda quickly said:--
"Fetch me my hood, Twonette. I shall not need a cloak. I am going to
walk out with Sir Max."
Twonette instantly obeyed, as if she were a tire-woman to a princess,
and soon returned wearing her own hood and carrying Yolanda's.
"Ah, but you are not to come with us," said Yolanda. She was ready to
give Max the opportunity he desired, and would give it generously.
"But--but what will father say?" asked Twonette, uneasily.
"We shall learn what he says when we return. No need to worry about that
now," answered Yolanda. Twonette took off her hood.
Max and Yolanda climbed the hill, and, after a little demurring on the
girl's part, sat down on a shelving rock at a point where the river view
was beautiful. As usual, Yolanda managed the conversation to suit
herself, but after a short time she permitted Max to introduce the
subject on which he wished to talk.
"Will you tell me, Fräulein," he asked, "how you were enabled to know
the history of my ring? I cannot believe you are what you said--a
sorceress--a witch."
"No, no," she answered laughingly, "I am not a sorceress."
"You almost made me believe you were," said Max, "but I am slow of wit,
as you have doubtless observed. I told Sir Karl you said you were a
sorceress, and he said--"
"You gave me your word you would not tell!" exclaimed Yolanda.
"Neither did I tell aught save that you said you were a sorceress. He
laughed and said--"
"Yes, yes, what did he say?" eagerly queried the girl.
"He said--I am sure you will not take amiss what he said?" responded
Max.
"No, no, indeed no! Tell me," she demanded eagerly.
"He said you were a witch, if brown eyes, dimpling smiles, and girlish
beauty could make one," answered Max.
"Ah, did he say that of me?" asked the girl, musingly. After a pause she
continued, "That was kind in Sir Karl and--and evidently sincere." After
another pause devoted to revery she said: "Perhaps I shall be his friend
sometime in a manner he little expects. Even the friendship of a
helpless burgher girl is not to be despised. But he is wrong. I am not
beautiful," she poutingly continued. "Now let us examine my face." She
laughed, and settled herself contentedly upon the stone, as if to take
up a serious discussion. "I often do so in the mirror. Vain? Of course
I am!"
"I am only too willing to examine it," said Max, laughingly.
"My mouth," she said, pursing her lips and lifting her face temptingly
for his inspection, "my mouth is--"
"Perfect," interrupted Max.
She looked surprised and said, "Ah, that was nicely spoken, Little Max,
and quickly, for you."
"'Little Max'!" exclaimed the young man. "Where heard you that name? No
one save my mother has ever used it; no one but Karl and my father has
ever heard her speak the words. Did Karl tell you of it?"
"Karl did not tell me," she responded, "and I never heard any one speak
the name. The name fits you so well--by contraries--that it came to me,
perhaps, by inspiration."
"That hardly seems possible," returned Max, "and your knowledge of how I
received the ring is more than remarkable."
"Let us talk about my face," said the girl, full of the spirit of
mischief, and wishing to put off the discussion of the ring. "Now, my
eyes, of which Sir Karl spoke so kindly, are--"
"The most wonderful in the world," interrupted Max. "They are brilliant
as priceless jewels, fathomless as deep water, gentle and tender as--"
"There, there, Little Max," she cried, checking with a gesture his flow
of unexpected eloquence. "I declare! you are not so slow as you seem. I
will tell you just how much of a sorceress I am. I thought to flatter
you by saying a great lady had given you the ring, and lo, I was right
unless you are adroitly leading me to believe in my own sorcery. Is she
a great lady? Come, tell me the story."
She unconsciously moved nearer to him with an air of pleasant
anticipation.
"Yes, it was a great lady, a very great lady who gave me the ring," he
said most seriously.
"And was I right in my other divination?" she asked, looking down and
flushing slightly. "Did--did she wish to marry you? But you need not
answer that question."
"I will gladly answer it," returned Max, leaning forward, resting his
elbow on his knees and looking at the ground between his feet. "I hoped
she did. I--I longed for it."
"Perhaps she possessed vast estates?" asked the girl, a slight frown
gathering on her brow.
"Yes, she possessed vast estates," said Max, "but I would gladly have
taken her penniless save for the fact that I am very poor, and that she
would suffer for the lack of luxuries she has always known."
"But how could the lady have felt sure you were not seeking her for the
sake of her estates?" asked Yolanda.
"She could not know," answered Max. "But I sought her for her own sake
and for no other reason."
"What manner of person was she?" asked Yolanda. "Was she dark or light,
short or tall, plain of feature or beautiful, amiable of temper or
vixenish? Was she like any one you have ever seen?"
She spoke in deep earnest and looked eagerly up to his face.
"She was beautiful of feature," answered Max. "Her eyes and her hair
were dark as yours are. She was short of stature, I have been told."
Yolanda laughed merrily: "I declare, Sir Max, you were in love with a
lady you had never seen. It was her estate you loved."
"No, no," said Max, earnestly. "I ardently desired--"
"Perhaps if you were to see her, your enthusiasm would vanish," said
Yolanda, interrupting him almost sharply. "My magic tells me she is a
squat little creature, with a wizened face; her eyes are sharp and
black, and her nose is a-peak, not unlike mine. That, she is sour and
peevish of temper, as I am, there can be no doubt. And, although she be
great and rich as the Princess of Burgundy, I warrant you she is not one
whit handsomer nor kinder in disposition than I."
Max started on hearing Mary of Burgundy's name, but quickly recovering
himself said:--
"I would not wish her better than you in any respect. You wrong both
yourself and the lady to speak as you do. Those who know her say the
lady has not her like in all the world."
A soft light came to Yolanda's face as he spoke, and she answered
slowly:--
"Doubtless the lady had like news of you, and is curious to know what
manner of man you are. She too may have dreamed of an ideal."
"How do you know she has never seen me?" asked Max, who had not fully
caught her reply when she spoke of the fact that he had never seen the
lady of the ring. "I shall surely come to believe you are a sorceress."
"No, I am not," she answered emphatically. "You shall carry that jest no
further. A moment since you said those who know her say so and so, and
you believed she was short of stature. Had you ever seen the lady, you
would know if she were tall or short. You would not be in doubt upon so
important a matter as the stature of your lady-love."
The reasoning and the reasoner were so irresistible that Max was easily
satisfied.
"But you have spoken of the lady as in the past. I hope she is not
dead?" asked Yolanda.
"No," answered Max, gravely, "our fathers did not agree. That is, her
father was not satisfied, and it all came to nothing save a--a
heartache for me."
It was well that Max was looking at the ground when she turned the soft
radiance of her eyes upon him, else he might have learned too much. His
modesty and honesty in admitting frankly that the lady's father was not
satisfied with the match pleased her and she sat in silence, smiling
contentedly. After a time she turned almost fiercely upon him:--
"Do you know what I should do, Sir Max, were I in your place?"
"What would you do, Fräulein?" queried Max.
"I would show the lady that I was worthy of her by winning her, even
though she were on a throne, guarded by a thousand dragons. I am a
woman, Sir Max, and I know a woman's heart. The heart of a princess is
first the heart of a woman. Be sure the lady will thank you and will
reward you if you fight your way to her and carry her off against all
the world."
"But how is that to be done, Fräulein?" asked Max, carelessly. In truth,
Mary of Burgundy was not uppermost in his heart at that moment.
"That is for a man to say and for a man to do," she responded. "A woman
knows only how to wait and to long for one who, alas! may never come.
She will wait for you, Sir Max, and when you come to her, she will place
her hand in yours and go with you wherever you wish to take her. Of
this, at least, my powers of sorcery are sufficient to assure you. Do
not fear! do not fear!"
She spoke earnestly, as if from the depths of a personal experience. Her
eyes glowed with the light of excitement and her face was radiant. Max
turned to her and saw all this beauty. Then he gently took her hand and
said huskily:--
"If I thought she were like you, Fräulein, I would gladly go to the end
of the world to win from her even one smile."
"No, no, Sir Max," said Yolanda, withdrawing her hand, "we must have no
more such speeches from you. They are wrong coming from one of your
degree to a burgher girl of Peronne, if she be an honest girl. Our
stations are too far apart."
"That is true, Fräulein," answered Max, sorrowfully, "but I mean no
disrespect. I honor you as if you were a princess"--here his tones took
energy and emphasis--"but I meant what I said, Fräulein, I meant what I
said, and though I shall never say it again, I know that I shall mean it
all the days of my life."
The expression in her eyes as she looked up at him was one of mingled
pleasure and amusement. It seemed to say, "Do not be too sure that you
will never say it again," but she said nothing. After a moment she
suggested:--
"Shall we return, Sir Max?" They rose, and as they started back to Basel
he remarked:--
"The words 'Little Max' on your lips sounded sweet to me, Fräulein.
They bring home to me the voice of my mother, and though I should not
care to hear another speak them, still, the words are very pretty on
your lips, and I like them."
Yolanda glanced quickly up to him with radiant eyes. He caught the
glance, and the last vestige of his ideal, Mary of Burgundy, left his
heart, driven out by the very real little enchantress that walked by
his side.