Count Raymond, of Toulouse, who led his own army by an independent route, is perhaps the most difficult character to understand. He was not pious; he was cold and calculating; he was old and rich; he had already gained distinction by fighting against the Moors; he loved money. Why did he go? It is impossible to say, except that he had vague ambitions of kingdoms in the East more splendid than any in the West. He alienated a great part of his territory to get treasure for the war, and he was by far the richest of the princes. The men he led, the Provençaux, were much less ignorant, less superstitious, and less smitten with the divine fury of the rest. Provence, which in two more centuries was to be itself the scene of a crusade as bloody as any in Palestine, was already touched with the heresy which was destined to break out in full violence before very many years. The Provençaux loved music, dancing, good cheer; but they were indifferent to the Church. They could plunder better than they could pray, and they were more often gathered round the provisions than the pulpits. It is singular, therefore, that the most signal miracle which attended the progress of the Christian arms should have been wrought among the Provençaux. It was so, however: Peter Bartholomeus, who found the Holy Lance, was a priest of Provence. Adhémar, Bishop of Puy, himself a Provençal, the most clear-headed, most prudent, and most thoughtful of the army, treated the story of Peter, it is true, with disdain; nor did Raymond believe it; as was evident when, on there appearing, shortly afterwards, symptoms that another miracle, of which he saw no use, was about to happen, he suppressed it with a strong hand. At the same time, he did not disdain to make use of the Holy Lance, and the “miracle” most certainly contributed very largely, as we shall see, to the success of the Christians.