In the garden, when our adventures were related, Yolanda, all excitement, could not keep her chair, but danced delightedly like a child and killed a score of imaginary herons.
She stroked the falcon's wings, and when I said, "My lord the duke has graciously consented to accept the bird," she turned upon Max, exclaiming in mock anger:-- "The duke has graciously consented to accept the bird! I should think it required little grace to accept such a gift, though much to give it.

Why don't you give the bird to me, Sir Max, if you are eager to part with it ?" "I would gladly have given it to you, Fraeulein," answered Max, "had I supposed you could use it on the duke's marshes.

Only nobles practise the royal sport of falconry." Yolanda glanced quickly from Max to Castleman, turned her face to the bird upon her shoulder, and said, with a touch of dignity:-- "We receive small favors from court once in a while, don't we, uncle?
We are not dirt under the nobles' feet, if we are plain burgher folk, are we, uncle ?" "Don't you know, Fraeulein, what great pleasure I should have taken in giving you the bird ?" asked Max.
Yolanda bent her head to one side, placed her cheek against the falcon's wing and pouted.

Her pout was prettier even than her smile, and that is saying a great deal.
After a few minutes Yolanda started to walk up the garden path and Max followed her, leaving the Castlemans and me under the arbor.

Yolanda, still pouting, carried Caesar on her shoulder, lavishing caresses on the bird that excited Max's bitterest envy.