Yolanda's desire to tell Max her secret, and her refusal; her longing for human sympathy, and the lack of it; her wish that he should remain in Peronne for a month--all these made me feel that she was the princess.
I could not help hoping that Hymbercourt was mistaken in pointing out Her Highness.

She rode in the shadow of the buildings and the moon was less than half full.

Yolanda might have wished to deceive us by pointing out the princess while we watched the cavalcade from Castleman's garden.
The burgher and Twonette might have been drawn into the plot against us by the impetuous will of this saucy little witch.

Many things, I imagined, had happened which would have appeared absurd to a sane man--but I was not sane.

I wished to believe that Yolanda was the princess, and I could not get the notion out of my head.
Yolanda's forwardness with Max, if she were Mary of Burgundy, could easily be explained on the ground that she was a princess, and was entitled to speak her mind.