DOWN THE RHINE TO BURGUNDY Notwithstanding the idle, happy life we were leading, I was anxious to begin our journey to Burgundy.

Just what would--or could--happen when we should reach that land of promise--perhaps I should say of no promise--I did not know.

I hoped that by some happy turn of fortune--perhaps through Twonette's help--Max might be brought to meet Mary of Burgundy.
I had all faith in his ability to please her, or any woman, but what advantage he could gain by winning her regard I could not guess.

The lady's personal preference would cut no figure in the choosing of a husband.

Her father would do that for her, and she would be powerless against the will of a man whose chief impulses were those of a mad bull.
This arrogant duke, without so much as a formal withdrawal, had ignored Duke Frederick's acceptance and had contracted his daughter's hand to the Dauphin of France, who was a puny, weak-minded boy of fourteen.
Should Max and I go to Burgundy and say to Charles, "This is Maximilian of Styria, to whom you offered your daughter in marriage," his answer might be a sword thrust.