Now I do think Guy and I have more sense. What we love to hear is of deeds really noble,—of men that have saved their city or their country at the risk of their own lives; of a mother that has sacrificed herself for her child; of a lady who was ready to see her true knight die rather than stain his honour. When we were little children at old Marguerite’s knee, and she used to tell us tales as a reward when we had been good,—and who ever knew half so many stories as dear old Marguerite?—while Raoul always wanted a bloody battle, and Amaury a royal pageant, and Alix what she called something practical—which, so far as I could see, meant something that was not interesting—and Guillot, he said, "Something all boys, with no girls in it"—the stories Guy and I liked were just those which our dear old nurse best loved to tell. There was the legend of Monseigneur Saint Gideon, who drove the heathen Saracens out of his country with a mere handful of foot-soldiers; and that of Monseigneur Saint David, who, when he was but a youth, fought with the Saracen giant, Count Goliath, who was forty feet high—Guillot and Raoul used to like that too; and of Monseigneur Saint Daniel, who on a false accusation was cast to the lions, and in the night the holy Apostle Saint Peter appeared to him, and commanded the lions not to hurt him; and the lions came and licked the feet of Monseigneur Saint Peter. The story that Amaury liked best of all was about Madame Esther, the Queen of Persia, and how she entreated her royal lord for the lives of certain knights that had been taken prisoners; but he always wanted to know exactly what Madame Esther had on, and even I thought that absurd, for of course Marguerite had to make it up, as the legend did not tell, and he might have done that for himself. Raoul best loved the great legend of the wars of Troy, and how Monseigneur Achilles dragged Monseigneur Hector at the wheels of his chariot: which I never did like, for I could not help thinking of Madame the Queen, his mother, and Madame his wife, who sat in a latticed gallery watching, and remembering how their hearts would bleed when they saw it. The story Guy liked best was of two good knights of Greece, whose names were Sir Damon and Sir Pythias, and how they so loved that each was ready and anxious to lay down his life for the other: and I think what I best loved to hear was the dear legend of Madame Saint Magdalene, and how she followed the blessed steps of our Lord wherever He went, and was the first to whom He deigned to appear after His resurrection. I wish, sometimes, that I had known my mother. I never had any mother but Marguerite. If she heard me, I know she would say, "Ha, my Damoiselle does not well to leave out the Damoiselle Alix." But I am sure Alix was never anything like a mother. If she were, mothers must be queer people.