"Ah, my Damoiselle cannot understand."
"Margot, I don't like that. Thou art always saying it. I want to understand."
"Then she must ask the good God to show her."
And that is all I can get out of her.
Short of a league from the Holy City is the little hill called Mont Joie, because from it the palmers catch the first glimpse of the blessed Jerusalem. We were mounting, as it seemed to me, a low hillock, when Amaury rode up beside me, and parting the curtains, said—
"Now, Elaine, look out, for we are on the Mont Joie. Wilt thou light down?"
"Certainly," I answered.
So Amaury stopped the litter, and gave me his hand, and I jumped out. He took me to the place where the palmers kneel in thanksgiving for being brought thus far on their journey: and here I had my first sight of the Holy City.
It is but a small city, yet strongly fortified, having three walls. No Paynim is permitted to enter it, nor of course any heathen Jew. I cannot imagine how it was that the good God ever suffered the Holy City, even for an hour, to be in the hands of those wicked people. Yet last night, in the tent, if Marguerite did not ask me whether Monseigneur Saint Paul was not a Jew! I was shocked.
"Oh dear, no!" said I.