The sun was now risen. The pied and various world in which they found themselves had breakfasted or was breakfasting. Noise prevailed, self-wrought into some kind of harmony. Here were women, soldiers’ and others’ wives, and frank harlots, and here were children, seraphic, impish, and all between. Here harboured men of sorts, men who cared for horses, were smiths, menders of harness and armour, fitters of lance-heads to lances, fletchers of arrows. Here were barber-surgeons, cooks, and servitors of servitors. Sutlers and merchants of small wares showed both men and women, as did also the amusement-mongers. There abounded folk of nondescript and uncertain trades, or of no trades at all, mere followers and feeders, a true rabble. And there were gamesters and cunning thieves. Elias of Montaudon and Jael the herd came into this throng in the company of the women who had washed by the brook of Saint Laurent. The air was yet hung with mist-wreaths; they entered with these about them, and none took especial notice. The washerwomen did not stray from the brook. Down they flung their half-washed, wet, and dripping loads, and complained loudly to any who would listen of Jacques le Noir and his demon band. Some listened, some did not; the most had recitals of their own. Voices sprang like grass-blades, were confounded.... With the others Jael threw upon the ground her load, Elias set down the child he had carried. Then in the confusion they went away, leaving without staying word or hand the group that had brought them thus far. They followed the brook Saint Laurent and they passed many folk, buried in their own concerns. To an eye not observant beyond a certain point, the two would seem a loitering couple of the camp, vacant and idly straying, being set at the moment to no task. None greeted them as acquaintances—but there seemed here no eye to note that fact. Units and groups shifted like the bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. Continually the tube was shaken and there came up new arrangements. The two went on, and none saw in them wandering bodies from outer and hostile space, pursuing a course athwart the field of the kaleidoscope.... The mist was gone, the sun poured light; looking back, they saw Roche-de-Frêne, indeed, but always farther, farther from them. They approached the edge of the camp-followers’ demesne. It frayed out among trees and gullies and heaps of refuse. Presently came a strip of bare earth, recently burned over, licked clean by the flame, and desert of human works or being. Beyond, flung widely, grey reefs across their way, were soldiers’ tents. Jael the herd’s lips moved. “Come down, for a minute, into this hollow where none will see.”