She ran excitedly to her mother, who was sitting on the divan, and exclaimed:-- "Oh! mother, the sweet Blessed Virgin has sent help!" "In what manner, child ?" asked the duchess, fondling Yolanda's hair while the girl knelt beside her.
"Here, mother, here! Here is help; here in this very letter that was intended to be my undoing.

I cannot wait to thank the Holy Mother." She crossed herself and buried her face in her mother's lap while she thanked the Virgin.
"What is it, Mary, and where is the help ?" asked Margaret, fearing the girl's mind had been touched by her troubles.
"Listen!" cried Yolanda.
Her excitement was so great that she could hardly see the words the bishop's scrivener had written.
"Listen, listen! Father in this letter first tells the king that he--that is, father, you understand--is going to war with Lorraine--no, with Bourbon.

I am wrong again.

Father is so constantly warring with some one that I cannot keep track of his enemies--against the Swiss.
See, mother, it is the Swiss.

He says he will go--will start--will begin the war--no, I am wrong again.