"What! canst thou not rule thine own wife?" demanded our gracious Lord. "Never tried, Monseigneur," said Guillot. "Too late to begin." And Monseigneur only said, with a sigh,—"I wonder when we shall hear from Guy!" Guillot looked relieved, and (seeing me, I think) they went on to talk of something else. But everything seems changed since they came. Except for my gracious Lord and Amaury and Raoul. It does not feel like home. Alix rode over this afternoon. I took her to my bower in the turret, and almost directly she asked me,—"How do you get on with our fair sister?" And I said,—"O Alix! I wish thou wouldst come back!" She laughed, and replied,—"What would my lord say, child? I thought you were not very comfortable." "What made thee think so, Alix? Was it Tuesday night?" "Tuesday night—the supper? I guessed you had seen to it." "Why?—was it so very bad?" said I, penitently. "Bad?—it was carelessness and neglect beyond endurance," she said. "No, I saw the maids wanted the mistress’s eye; and Umberge evidently had not given it; and I thought you had tried to throw yourself into the gap, and—as such an inexperienced young thing would—had failed." I really was pleased when Alix said that. "Then thou wert not vexed with me, Alix?" "Not I. You did your best. I was vexed enough with Umberge. I knew she was lazy, but I did not expect her to discredit the house like that." "She seems quite altered since she came here," I said. "Ah, you never can tell how people will turn out till you come to live with them," said Alix. "So you are not so very glad, after all, to lose me, little one?" I was startled, for I never supposed that Alix had guessed that. I did not know what to say. "Why, child, did you think I had no eyes?" she added. "You know you were glad." I did what I generally do—hesitated for a moment, and then came out bluntly with the truth— "Well, Alix, I was glad. But I am not now." Alix laughed. "That is right," she said; "always tell the plain truth, Elaine. You will find many a time, as you go through life, child, that the prettiest pasties are not always the best flavoured, nor the plainest say[#] the worst to wear." [#] A common quality of silk. I suppose it is so. But I never should have guessed that I should be wishing for Alix to come back. "Marguerite," I said one morning as I was dressing, "dost thou think it would be wrong if I were to pray for a letter from Guy?" "I cannot think it wrong to pray for anything," she answered, "provided we are willing that the good God should choose for us in the end." "Well, but I am not sure that I am willing to have that." "Is my Damoiselle as wise as the good Lord?" "Oh no, of course not! But still"—— "But still, my Damoiselle would like always to have her own way." "Yes, I should, Margot." "Well, if there be one thing for which I am thankful it is that the good Lord has not given me much of my own way. It would have been very bad for me."