As for their stuffs, there are new and beautiful ones. Here they weave byssus,[#] and a very fine transparent stuff called muslin. Crape comes from Cyprus, and damask from Damascus, whence it is named. But the fairest of all their stuffs is the baudekyn, of which we have none in Europe,—especially the golden baudekyn, which is like golden samite. I have bought two lovely pieces for Alix, the one gold-colour, the other blue. [#] Cotton. Some very curious customs they have here, which are not common in Europe. Instead of carrying lanterns when one walks or rides at night, they hang out lanterns in the streets, so that all are lighted at once. It seems to me rather a good idea. Guy has been telling us some strange things about the Saracens. Of course I knew before that they worship idols,[#] and deal in the black art; but it seems that Saladin, when he marches, makes known his approach by a dreadful machine produced by means of magic, which roars louder than a lion,[#] and strikes terror into every Christian ear that is so unhappy as to be within hearing. This is, of course, by the machinations of the Devil, since it is impossible that any true Catholic could be frightened of a Saracen otherwise. [#] All mediæval Christians thought this. [#] The first drum on record. We are all very busy preparing for the weddings. There are to be three, on three successive days. On the Saturday, Amaury is to be married to Damoiselle Eschine. (Poor thing!—how I pity her! I would not marry Amaury to be Empress.) On the Sunday, Guy weds with Lady Sybil. And on Monday, Lady Isabel with Messire Homfroy de Tours. I think Lady Sybil grows sweeter and sweeter. I love her,—Oh, so much! She asked me if Guy had told me the news. I said he had. "And dost thou like it, Lynette?" she asked shyly. "Very much indeed," said I,—"if you love him, Lady." "Love him!" she said. And she covered her face with her hands. "O Lynette, if thou knewest how well! He is my first love. I was wedded to my Lord of Montferrat when both of us were little children; we never chose each other. I hope I did my best to make him a good and dutiful wife; I know I tried to do so. But I never knew what love meant, as concerned him. Never, till _he_ came hither." Well, I am sure Guy loves her. But—shall I own to having been the least bit disappointed with what he said the other day about women? I should not have cared if Amaury had said it. I know he despises women—I have noticed that brainless men always do—and I should not have expected any thing better. But I did not look for it from Guy. Several times in my life, dearly as I love him, Guy has rather disappointed me. Why do people disappoint one in that way? Is it that one sets up too high a standard, and they fall short of it? I think I will ask Lady Judith what she thinks. She has lived long enough to know.