Foulque lived and the black tower stood. News of salvation had run like wildfire. Garin found Foulque out-of-doors, old and meagre men and young lads with him. The dozen huts that sheltered by the black castle, sheltered still. The fields that it claimed had gone undevastated. “Garin’s luck!” said Foulque; whereupon old Jean crossed himself for fear that Sir Foulque had crossed the luck.—But the young and middle-aged men who had gone to war for Roche-de-Frêne had not yet returned. Some would not return. The women of the huts looked haunted, and though the children played, they did not do so freely. But the war had ended, and some would come back, and Christmas-tide was at hand and the sun shone on the brown fields. Foulque saw Garin coming. He put his hand above his eyes. “_Peste!_” he said. “I always had good sight—what’s the matter now? Look, boy, for my eyes blur!” They all looked, then they cried, “Sir Garin!” and the younger rushed down to the road. That day and night passed. The folk of Castel-Noir had liking for Sir Foulque, and that despite some shrewdness of dealing and a bitter wit. But they were becoming aware that they loved Sir Garin. He stood and told them of how this man had done and how that, of two brave deeds of Sicart’s, and how Jean the Talkative talked but did well. He told them who, to his knowledge, had quitted this life; and he spoke not like a lord but like a friend to those who upon that telling broke into mourning. He could not tell them how life and death stood now among Castel-Noir men, for he had been away from Roche-de-Frêne. Castel-Noir came to understand that he had been upon some service for the princess, and that that explained why there was with him neither squire nor man. To Foulque that evening in the hall, by the fire, he told in part the story of what the princess had wrought for Roche-de-Frêne. Foulque drew deeper breath. The colour came into his withered cheek, he twisted in his chair. “I heard rumours when Aquitaine lifted and went away, and Montmaure slunk back—but my habit is to wait for something more than rumours!... That is a brave lady—a brave adventure! By the mass! When I was young that would have stirred me!” Garin laughed at him. “It stirs you now, Foulque!” Foulque would not grant that. But even while he denied, he looked less crippled and shrivelled. “You did your _devoir_ also.... _Audiart the Wise_—Well, she may be so!” “She is so,” said Garin.