These clouds on the western horizon did not trouble the peace of Fulk’s last hour. As he knelt to receive the holy communion in S. Martin’s church on one of the feasts of the patron saint, a slight feeling of illness came over him; he returned to his place in the choir, and there, in the arms of his brother-canons, passed quietly away.[262] We cannot doubt that they laid him to rest in the church he had loved so well.[263] With him was buried the peace of the Marchland. Never again was it to have a ruler who “waged no wars”; never again, till the title of count of Anjou was on the eve of being merged in loftier appellations, was that title to be borne by one whose character might give him some claim to share the epithet of “the Good,” although circumstances caused him to lead a very different life. Fulk the Second stands all alone as the ideal Angevin count, and it is in this point of view that the legends of his life--for we cannot call them history--have a value of their own. The most famous of them all is, in its original shape, a charming bit of pure Christian poetry. One day--so the tradition ran--the count, on his way to Tours, was accosted by a leper desiring to be carried to S. Martin’s. All shrank in horror from the wretched being except Fulk, who at once took him on his shoulders and carried him to the church-door. There his burthen suddenly vanished; and at the midnight service, as the count-canon sat in his stall, he beheld in a trance S. Martin, who told him that in his charity he had, like another S. Christopher, unwittingly carried the Lord Himself.[264] Later generations added a sequel to the story. Fulk, they said, after his return to Angers, was further rewarded by a second vision; an angel came to him and foretold that his successors to the ninth generation should extend their power even to the ends of the earth.[265] At the time when this prophecy appears in history, it had already reached its fulfilment. In all likelihood it was then a recent invention; in the legend to which it was attached it has obviously no natural place. But its introduction into the story of Fulk the Good was prompted by a significant instinct. At the height of their power and their glory, the reckless, ruthless house of Anjou still did not scorn to believe that their greatness had been foretold not to the warrior-founder, not to the bravest of his descendants, but to the good count who sought after righteousness and peace. Even they were willing, in theory at least, to accept the dominion of the earth as the promised reward not of valour but of charity. [262] _Gesta Cons._ (Marchegay, _Comtes_), p. 75. According to _Gallia Christiana_ (vol. xiv. col. 808) the Norman attack on Nantes took place about 960. It is probable that Fulk died soon after; but no charters of his successor are forthcoming until 966.