"Here I can assure you the peace of Heaven and forgiveness of sins," he proclaimed, as he cast the crosses to all within reach. "By the virtue they possess, if ye make good the obligation they carry with them, your sins shall be assoiled. But think not to lay aside the burden once assumed. There is a mighty task awaiting you, and Christ calls upon you to begin. Rich and poor, old and young, merchant and seigneur, serf and villein, all of ye hear Christ's call. Go forth in his service, and ye shall win everlasting life." The crowd were in a frenzy, moaning and weeping and beating their breasts, calling upon saints, praying in the gutters. "Show us a miracle, Messer Fulke," cried an hysterical voice from the fringes of the throng. The appeal was taken up and tossed about, until a chorus of voices were demanding it. "Show us a miracle, Messer Fulke! A miracle such as you showed the people of Paris! Give us a miracle!" The priest raised his gaunt arms in a magnificent gesture of command. Instantly the crowd sobered into silence. "A miracle ye call for!" he said slowly, his words falling distinct as the tolling of a bell. "Oh, ye foolish ones, ye of little faith! A miracle ye must have in order that ye shall believe!" His tones became scornful. "When did Fulke of Neuilly ever claim to be a worker of miracles? But I will show you that which is all but a miracle, an ye ask for it. I will show ye the haughty and highly-placed brought to serve God's purpose against their will. Look carefully, oh, people!" There was a deadly hush, and Fulke leaned forward from his heap of faggots. "Ride near, sir knights," he called to Hugh and Matteo. "Ay, to my feet, an it please you." By magic a lane opened before their horses, there was a pressure of bodies from the rear, and the comrades found themselves immediately under the preacher's stand. "I thought I knew ye, slayers of outlaws, players of light music, doers of errant deeds," he exclaimed sarcastically. "Here I give you a chance to redeem your souls from the burden of sin that rests upon them." And before they could protest, he took strips from the citizen's cloak and pinned crosses to their surcoats. "There is a miracle for you," he shouted to the crowd, and a din of rejoicing arose from the packed ranks. The people pressed closer, not only kissing Fulke's clothing, but striving to snatch bits of the comrades' surcoats, in which they fancied some sure virtue to have been embodied. Hugh and Matteo were forced to fight their way out of the throng. It was impossible for them to protest against the priest's act. Had they done so they would have been torn to pieces. As it was, they did not feel safe until they were swallowed in the shadows of a side-street. "Do you believe in God?" asked Hugh, as he fingered the coarse cloth of the cross that sprawled across his breast. "Sometimes," answered Matteo quietly. "And sometimes I believe in the Fate of which the Saracens teach."