"We are better off, my Damoiselle," said old Marguerite. "For though the good God did not answer Pilatus—maybe he was not worthy—He did answer the same question, asked by Monseigneur Saint Thomas. Did not my Damoiselle hear Father Eudes read that in French? It was only a few weeks ago." I shook my head. I cannot imagine when or how Marguerite does hear all these things. I never do. But she went on. "It was one day when the good Lord had told Messeigneurs the Apostles that He was going to ascend to Heaven: and He said, ’The way ye know.’ But Monseigneur Saint Thomas—ah! he was rather like my Damoiselle; he wanted to know!—he replied that they did not know the way. (If he had not been a holy apostle, I should not have thought it very civil to contradict his Seigneur, let alone the good Lord.) But the good God was not angry: He saw, I suppose, that Monseigneur Saint Thomas did not mean anything wrong, but he wanted to know, like a damoiselle of the House of Lusignan. So He said, ’I am the way, and the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father but by Me.’" "But I do not see what that means," said I. "Truth cannot be a person,—a man cannot be a way. Of course it is a figure of speech; but still I do not see what it means." I was very sleepy, and I fancy rather cross. Marguerite stooped and kissed my hand, and then turned and put out the light. "Rest, my fair Damoiselle," she said, tenderly. "And may the good God show my darling what it means!" *CHAPTER IV.* _*A JOURNEY—AND THE END OF IT*_*.* "A violet by a mossy stone, Half hidden from the eye: Fair as a star when only one Is shining in the sky." —WORDSWORTH. Bound for the East Countrie! Ay, we are fairly off at last, Amaury and I,—with old Marguerite, and her niece Perette, and Bertrade, Robert’s daughter, and Robert himself, to wait upon me; and an escort of armed men, and Amaury’s attendants. Yet it was not all brightness when we came to leave the Castle. Alix and Messire Raymond were there to take leave of us: and I really fancied—it must have been fancy!—that there were tears in Alix’s eyes when she kissed me. There were none in Umberge’s, nor in Guillot’s. But Raoul cried honestly; though Amaury said afterwards that he believed three-quarters of Raoul’s tears were due to his having to stay behind. Father Eudes gave me his blessing; and he wept too, poor old man! I dare say he was sorry. He was here before I was born. Then the maidens and servants came forward, the women kissing my hand, and the men my robe: and last of all I came to Monseigneur, our father. He folded me close in his arms, and bent his head down upon mine; and I felt two or three hot tears on my brow.