Descending a miniature slope, they stood in a narrow space between walls of parched earth. The camp behind them, the camp before them, sank abruptly from view, though the sound of each remained. Roche-de-Frêne sank from view; they were roofed by the blue sky. A lizard ran from stone to stone; a wind, circling the place, lifted into air dead leaves and particles of earth. The herd-girl, seating herself, opened the scrip that she carried. The jongleur watched her take from it something at which he started. It was a piece of saffron-coloured cloth, cut in the shape of a cross. The upright measured near two feet, it and the arms had a palm’s breadth. The next thing that she did was to find a needle and thread; then she took her frieze mantle, and after an instant of looking into the pure, deep heavens, began to fasten upon the mantle the saffron cross. Garin held his breath. Holy Church had many penances for erring souls, and the most were acquiesced in with the least possible inner pain, and some were dreaded, and a few were direfully dreaded, shudderingly looked upon. The most were burdensome but matter-of-fact; some gave the weak flesh sharp pain, but did not necessarily humble one in the eyes of the world and the neighbours. A certain number had for label, _Humiliation_, and they were dreaded. A few were more sinister than these, frightening the imagination. One or two brought a dark terror, dark and cold. These did not partake of the nature of prostrations, or of prayers in multiplied repetition, or of flagellations, or pilgrimages, or amercement of goods. Flagellation was of temporary account; pilgrimages a way to see the world as well as to wipe out sin; loss in money and land a serious thing, God knew! but though bitter, without ignominy. None of these came under the same sky with excommunication, which was not penance, but doom and living death! But to wear a cross like this came under the same sky.