“We come from Almayne,” he said; “some of us in past years dwelt in Provence, Toulouse, and Gascony.”
“Don’t tell me!” said Isel, holding up her hands. “It’s all so much gibberish. Have you met with my man?—that’s all I want to know.”
“I have not,” replied Gerhardt. “I will ask my friends, and see if any of them have done so.”
Supper over, a second surprise followed. Again Gerhardt offered his special blessing—“God, who has given us bodily food, grant us His spiritual life; and may God be with us, and we always with Him!” Then they once more knelt and silently prayed. Gerhardt drew his wife and sister into a corner of the house, and opening his book, read a short portion, after which they engaged in low-toned conversation.
Derette, with the baby in her arms, had drawn near the group. She was not at all bashful.
“I wish I could understand you,” she said. “What are you talking about?”
Gerhardt lifted his cap before answering.
“About our blessed Lord Christ, my maiden,” he said.
Derette nodded, with an air of satisfaction at the wide extent of her knowledge. “I know. He’s holy Mary’s Son.”
“Ay, and He is our Saviour,” added Flemild.