“It is not our holy tongue.”
“Have Jews a holy tongue?” responded Eularia, in surprise.
“Yes, indeed,—Hebrew.”
“I did not know they believed any thing to be holy. Have they any relics?”
“I do not know what those are.”
Eularia led the way to the sacristy.
“Look here,” she said, reverently opening a golden reliquary set with rubies. “Here is a small piece of the holy veil of our foundress, Saint Clare. This is the finger-bone of the blessed Evangelist Matthew. Here is a piece of the hoof of the holy ass on which our Lord rode. Now thou knowest what relics are.”
“But what can make you keep such things as those?” asked Beatrice, opening wide her lustrous eyes.
“And this,” enthusiastically added Eularia, opening another reliquary set with emeralds and pearls, “is our most precious relic,—one of the small feathers from the wing of the holy angel, Saint Gabriel.”
To the intense horror of Eularia, a silver laugh of unmistakable amusement greeted this holy relic.