"Perhaps, for a villein, it might," said I; "but nobles are different." "Possibly, even for the nobles," said Marguerite, "the good Lord might be the best chooser." "But it seems to me, if we left everything in that way, we should never pray at all." "Let my Damoiselle pardon me. That we have full trust in a friend’s wisdom is scarcely a reason why we should not ask his counsel." "But the friend cannot know what advice you need. The Lord knows all about it." "Does my Damoiselle never tell her thoughts to Monseigneur Guy because he knows that she is likely to think this or that?" "Oh, but it is such pleasure to tell one’s thoughts to Guy," I replied. "He generally thinks as I do; and when he does not, he talks the thing over with me, and it usually ends in my thinking as he does. Then if I am sad, he comforts me; and if I am rejoicing, he rejoices with me; and—O Margot! it is like talking to another me." "My Damoiselle," said Marguerite, with a peculiar smile which I have seen on her lips before, and never could understand—it is so glad and sunny, yet quiet and deep, as if she were rejoicing over some hidden treasure which she had all to herself,—"My Damoiselle has said well. ’He that is joined to the Lord is one spirit.’ ’If we walk in the light, as He is in the light, we have fellowship one with another.’ My Damoiselle does not yet know what it is to speak out freely all her thoughts to One who is infinitely high and wise, and who loves her with an infinite love. I am but a poor ignorant villein woman: I know very little about any thing. Well! I take my ignorant mind to Him who knows all things, and who can foresee the end from the beginning. I do not know any grand words to pray with. I just say, ’Sir[#] God, I am very much puzzled. I do not know what to do for the best. Put the best thing into my head. Thou knowest.’ Every night, before I go to sleep, the last thing, I say in my heart, ’Sir God, I do not know what is good, and what is evil for me. Thou knowest. Give me the good things to-night, and keep the evil ones away.’ I suppose, if I were very wise and clever, I should not make such poor, ignorant prayers. I should know then what would be best to do. Yet I do not think I should be any better off, for then I should see so much less of the good Lord. I would rather have more of the good God, and less of the quick wit and the ready tongue." [#] Though this title will certainly sound strange, if not irreverent, to modern ears, it was meant as the most reverent epithet known to those who used it. It would be nice to feel as Margot does. I cannot think where she got it But it would never do for me, who am noble, to take pattern from a poor villein. I suppose such thoughts are good for low, ignorant people.