"Margot, thy queer fancies!" said I, laughing. "Now tell me, prithee, on whose forehead, in this house, thou seest the cross."
"The Lady Judith," she answered without the least hesitation; "and I think, the Lady Sybil. Let my Damoiselle pardon me if I cannot name any other, with certainty. I have weak eyes for such sights. I have hope of Monseigneur Count Guy."
"Margot, Margot!" cried I. "Thou uncharitable old creature, only three! What, not the Lady Queen, nor the Lady Isabel, nor the holy Patriarch! Oh, fie!"
"Let my Damoiselle pardon her servant. The Lady Queen,--ah, I have no right to say. She looks blank, to me. The cross may be there, and I may be blind. But the Patriarch--no! and the Lady Isabel--the good God forgive me if I sin, but I believe I see the star on her."
"And on me?" said I, laughing to hide a curious sensation which I felt, much akin to mortification. Yet what did old Marguerite's foolish fancies matter?
I was surprised to see her worn old eyes suddenly fill with tears.
"My sweet Damoiselle!" she said. "The good God bring out the holy cross on the brow that I love so well! But as yet,--if I speak at all, I must speak truth--I have not seen it there."
I could not make out why I did not like the Count of Tripoli. He is a very handsome man,--even my partial eyes must admit, handsomer than Guy. But there is a strange look in his eyes, as if you only saw the lid of a coffer, and beneath, inside the coffer, there might be something dark and dangerous. Guy says he is a splendid fellow; but Guy always was given to making sudden friendships, and to imagining all his friends to be angels until he discovered they were men. I very much doubt the angelic nature of Count Raymond. I do not like him.
But what a queer fancy this is of old Marguerite's--that Satan puts marks on some people! Yet I cannot help wishing she had not said that about me. And I do not think it was very respectful. She might have said something more civil, whatever she thought. Marguerite always will speak just as she thinks. That is like a villein. It would never do for us nobles.
Guy has now been Regent of the Holy Land for half a year. Some people seem to fancy that he is rather too stern. Such a comical idea!--and of Guy, of all people. I think I know how it is. Guy is very impulsive in enterprise, and very impetuous in pursuing it. And he sees that during the King's illness every thing has gone wrong, and fallen into disorder; and of course it will not do to let things go on so. People must be governed and kept in their places. Of course they must. Why, if there were no order kept, the nobles and the villeins would be all mixed up with each other, and some of the more intelligent and ambitious of the villeins might even begin to fancy themselves on a par with the nobles. For there is a sort of intelligence in some of those people, though it must be of quite a different order from the intellect of the nobles. I used to think villeins never were ambitious. But I have learned lately that some of them do entertain some such feeling. It must be a most dangerous idea to get into a villein's head!--though of course, right and proper enough for a noble. But I cannot imagine why villeins cannot be contented with their place. Did not Providence make them villeins?--and if they have plenty of food, and clothing, and shelter, and fire, and a good dance now and then on the village green, and an extra holiday when the Seigneur's daughter is married, or when his son comes of age,--what can they possibly want more?