All rode through the streets of Angoulême, in the bright keen day. Robert of Mercœur was neighbour of the Knight of the Wood, and looked aslant at him with an intuitive eye. They passed out by the west gate and wound down to the valley floor. It was no distance from the town to the Abbey of the Fountain; the latter’s great leafless trees were presently about them. The count with a word drew Garin to ride at his bridle-hand. The two or three following fell a little back. Beauvoisin spoke. “Richard says that he will be a week in Angoulême. But he knows not when his mood may change, and in all save three or four things he follows his mood.” The Knight of the Wood looked east and south. “I will answer for there being a vision of many in extremity, and a wild heartbeat to win and begone!” “‘Win.’—I know not, nor can you know as to that.” “The schools would say ‘True, lord count!’ But there is learning beyond learning.” They rode in silence, each pursuing his own thought. Beauvoisin rode with lifted head, gazing before him down the vista of trees, to where the grey wall closed it. Presently he spoke, but spoke as though he did not know that he was speaking. “We were within the prohibited degrees of kin.” The great trees stood widely apart, gave way to the grassy space before the Abbey. The Count of Beauvoisin, his cap in his hand, was granted admittance at the Abbey portal; might, in the abbess’s room, grey nuns attending her, speak with the veiled abbess. But they who were with him waited without, quietly, as the place demanded, in the grassy space. The Knight of the Wood waited. The minutes passed. When an hour had gone by, Beauvoisin came from the grey building. He mounted his horse, looked steadfastly at the place, then, with the air of a man in a dream, turned toward Angoulême. The knights followed him, riding between huge boles of trees that towered. Robert of Mercœur was again at Garin’s side. “Do you mark that look of exaltation? One man has one heaven and another, another—or that is the case while they are men. Count Rainier has seen his heaven—felt the waving of its hands over his head!” In Angoulême, in its widest street, they saw approaching a cavalcade from the castle, a brilliant troop, glittering steel, shimmering fine apparel, pushing with gaiety through the town upon some short journey, half errand of state, half of pleasure. At its head rode one who had the noblest steed, the richest dress. He was a man very fair, long-armed, sinewy, of medium height. There was great vigour of bearing, warmth from within out, an apparent quality that drew, save when from another quarter of the nature came, scudding, wrath and tempest. The mien of command was not lacking, nor, to a given point, of self-command. He drew rein to speak to the Count of Beauvoisin; who with his following had given room, backing their horses into the opening of a narrower street.