The taller, who I soon learned was the duchess, hastened down the passage and through the door leading to her apartments.

The smaller I at once recognized.

She was Yolanda.
"Father, you cannot mean to send me into France," she cried, trying to detain the duke.

"Kill me, father, if you will, but do not send me to that hated land.

I shall not survive this marriage a fortnight, and if I die, Burgundy will go to our cousin of Bourbon." "Don't hinder me, daughter," returned the duke, impatiently.