Having dropped her familiar manner, she did not go near him, but sat at a distance, holding Twonette's hand, and silently but constantly watching him, as if she were awaiting something.

Her eyes, at times, seemed to be half-indignant interrogation points.

At other times I could see in them doubt, waiting, and hope--hope almost tired with yearning.
It was no small love that she wanted from Max.

She had hoped--perhaps I should say she had longed with little hope--that he would, for the sake of the burgher girl, Yolanda, be willing to turn his back on his family and his land.

But now he was leaving, and her dream was about to close, since Max would probably never come back to her.
Not the least painful of Yolanda's emotions was the knowledge that she could insure Max's return by telling him that she was the Princess of Burgundy.