The pink had not left Yolanda's cheeks, nor had her nerves been disturbed by the adventures of the morning.

Max tried hard to suppress his exuberance of spirit, and Yolanda laved him in the sunshine of her smiles.
Within three hours we were safely housed at a village by the Rhine.
Castleman, finding me alone, said:-- "You, Sir Karl, and Sir Max little know the value of the friend you have made this day." "I thank you, good Castleman," I answered, hardly liking so great an air of condescension on the part of a burgher.

An afterthought suggested that perhaps Castleman had not referred to himself as the friend we had made.

Strange thoughts and speculations had of late been swarming in my mind until they had almost taken the form of a refrain, "Who is Yolanda ?" Though the question repeated itself constantly by day and by night, I received no whisper of an answer.
We travelled slowly, and it was not until the second day after our conflict with the Black Riders that we found ourselves near Strasburg.

A league from the city gates we met Raoul de Rose, a herald of the Duke of Burgundy.