Guy has now been Regent of the Holy Land for half a year. Some people seem to fancy that he is rather too stern. Such a comical idea!—and of Guy, of all people. I think I know how it is. Guy is very impulsive in enterprise, and very impetuous in pursuing it. And he sees that during the King’s illness every thing has gone wrong, and fallen into disorder; and of course it will not do to let things go on so. People must be governed and kept in their places. Of course they must. Why, if there were no order kept, the nobles and the villeins would be all mixed up with each other, and some of the more intelligent and ambitious of the villeins might even begin to fancy themselves on a par with the nobles. For there is a sort of intelligence in some of those people, though it must be of quite a different order from the intellect of the nobles. I used to think villeins never were ambitious. But I have learned lately that some of them do entertain some such feeling. It must be a most dangerous idea to get into a villein’s head!—though of course, right and proper enough for a noble. But I cannot imagine why villeins cannot be contented with their place. Did not Providence make them villeins?—and if they have plenty of food, and clothing, and shelter, and fire, and a good dance now and then on the village green, and an extra holiday when the Seigneur’s daughter is married, or when his son comes of age,—what can they possibly want more? I said so to Marguerite. "Ah, that is all the nobles know!" she answered, quietly enough, but with some fire in the old eyes. "They do not realise that we are men, just as they are. God sent us into His world, with just as much, body and soul, as He did them. We have intellects, and hearts, and consciences, just like them. (’Just like’—only fancy!) I trust the good God may not have to teach it them through pain." "But they ought to be satisfied," said I. "I am perfectly content with my place in the world. Why are they not contented?" "It is easier to be content with velvet than duffle," said Marguerite more calmly. "It looks better, and feels softer, too. If my Damoiselle were to try the duffle for a day, perhaps she would complain that it felt harsh." "To me, very likely," said I. "But a villein would not have a fine skin like mine." "The finest skin does not always cover the finest feelings," said Marguerite in her dry way. What a very silly idea! Of course those people cannot have such feelings as I have. It would be quite absurd to think so.