The jongleur stood staring. “I have been in many a castle hall and bower, at an infinity of tournaments, and two or three times where baron and knight were warring in earnest. Up and down and to and fro in the world I practice my art, riding when I can and walking when I must! But when I had the honour of striking viol, lute or harp before you, sir, I do not recall. Being so famous a knight and poet, I should remember—. And then men say that you have been long years in the land over the sea!” “It was before I went to the land over the sea.—But come! the sky is fading, it is growing dusk. Light the candles there, and begin to turn me into your other self!” The candles lighted, the jongleur shook out the clothing he had brought. “Earth-brown and leaf-green,” he said, “with a hooded mantle half the one and half the other.—Now, noble sir, I can play the squire as well as the squire himself!” He took from Garin the garments which the latter put off, gave him piece by piece those that were to transform. The two, jongleur and knight and troubadour, were much of a height. Garin was the more strongly built, but the garb of the time had amplitude of line and fold and Elias of Montaudon’s holiday dress fitted him well enough. “Of deliberation and answering to command,” said the jongleur, “it has been slightly rent and patched here and discoloured there. If the Blessed Virgin herself asked me why, I could not tell her! I have also a phial of a brown stain which, lightly used, makes for a darker complexion than the sun has painted you with.... Sir Garin of the Golden Island, in hall and bower and wherever chivalry gathers, I have sung songs of your making. But when and where have I sung _to_ you? I have curiosity, without which life would be a dull dream! Give largesse, sir, in the coin of a wiser world—that is to say, give knowledge!” Garin smiled. “I was esquire then, and you sat by a boulder in the forest, not so many miles from Roche-de-Frêne and discoursed of jongleur merits and of an ingrate master, to wit, Guy of Perpignan! Also you sang certain lines of his, and spoke sapiently of Lord Love. That, too, was an autumn day, and when I was a squire I wore brown and green.” The jongleur lifted both hands and beat a measure upon his brow. “Ha! and by Saint Arion and his dolphin you did! A proper squire, singing a hunting stave—Ha!” cried Elias of Montaudon, “I have heard sing a master-poet before he was poet! “‘In the spring ’tis crescent morn, But then, ah then, the man is born!’ though, certainly, it was autumn!... I remember as clear as crystal! I was asleep, and you waked me, coming up on a great horse—” “Just so. I left the saddle and let Paladin graze, and we talked.” “Clearer than Saint Martha’s well!... The talk was of love, and that you had not yet a lady—By all the saints!” said Elias, “how soon must that have been remedied!”