Each evening supper was a little fete followed by a romp of amusement, songs, and childish games in the frau's great parlor.
The Castlemans, Max, and I made several excursions into the mountains.
Yolanda and Twonette were in ecstasy at the mountain views, which were so vividly in contrast with the lowlands of Burgundy.
"These mountains are beautiful," said patriotic Yolanda, "but our lowlands raise bread to feed the hungry." On one occasion we rode to the Falls of Schaffhausen, and often we were out upon the river.

During these expeditions Yolanda adroitly kept our little party together, and Max could have no private word with her.
I had never been so happy as I was during the fortnight at Basel while Castleman was buying silk.

I was almost a child again; my fifty odd years seemed to fall from me as an eagle sheds his plumes in spring.

We were all happy and merry as a May-day, and our joyousness was woven from the warp and woof of Yolanda's gentle, laughing nature.

Without her, our life would have been comfortable but commonplace.
During all this time Max pondered in vain upon the remarkable manner in which Yolanda had divined the secret of his ring.