‘This garden seems a paradise,’ said Tancred. ‘I had not thought that anything so fair could be found among these awful mountains. It is a spot that quite becomes Bethany.’
‘You Franks love Bethany?’
‘Naturally; a place to us most dear and interesting.’
‘Pray, are you of those Franks who worship a Jewess; or of those other who revile her, break her images, and blaspheme her pictures?’
‘I venerate, though I do not adore, the mother of God,’ said Tancred, with emotion.
‘Ah! the mother of Jesus!’ said his companion. ‘He is your God. He lived much in this village. He was a great man, but he was a Jew; and you worship him.’
‘And you do not worship him?’ said Tancred, looking up to her with an inquiring glance, and with a reddening cheek.
‘It sometimes seems to me that I ought,’ said the lady, ‘for I am of his race, and you should sympathise with your race.’
‘You are, then, a Hebrew?’
‘I am of the same blood as Mary whom you venerate, but do not adore.’