Not only these. As they rode by he saw in vision all the lands of Roche-de-Frêne and those who peopled them, men and women and children. And the town of Roche-de-Frêne and its citizens, men and women and children, and all who had defended it. And all the hills and vales of life.... He saw the slain and the hurt and the impoverished and the hearts that bled with loss—the waste fields and the broken walls. He saw work to be done—long work. And when that work was done and there were only scars that did not throb, yet was there work—building and building, though it could not be weighed. He saw as he knew that she saw—and the land became deep and dear to him, and the people became father and mother and child, brother and sister and friend.... “It is a baptism,” said Garin, and covered his eyes with his hands. The great company went by, lessened in apparent bulk, lessened still upon the westward running road. Its trumpeters sounded their trumpets. Out of the distance came to Garin’s ear an answering fanfare, delicate and far like fairy trumpets. Rising ground and purple wood hid the meeting between the Princess of Roche-de-Frêne and her barons and valiant knights. The sun climbed toward the summit. The troubadour lay in the high cleft of the rock, felt the beams, breathed the clear, pure air, hearkened to the sough of the breeze in sere grass and bush. All earth and air were his, and the golden home of warmth and light, the great middle orb whose touch he felt. He waited for sound or sight that should tell him that the princess and her doubled train were coming. It was not long to wait. In the night a light rain had fallen—there was no dust, and the road was softened beneath the horses’ hoofs. The great company appeared now, like a vision, brightened and heightened to the outer eye by strength of the inner. Beauty and might, and sadness and joy, all lights and all shadows, gained a firmer recognition. Garin, concentrated, watched the company come toward him. Again there echoed the eve of his knighthood, when through the darkness he had kept vigil. But he kept vigil now a more awakened being, with a wider reach and a richer knowledge. The train came toward him, and now he heard the sound of it, the tread of horses, metallic noises, the human voice, all subdued to a deep murmur as of an incoming sea. This increased until single notes were distinguishable. The form grew larger, then he could see component forms. Music was being made, he saw the great blue banners.... And still he knew that all was a mightier and a brighter thing than yesterday he had known.... Now he saw the Princess of Roche-de-Frêne riding between Beauvoisin and Stephen the Marshal. She passed the rock whereon he lay, and he saw a great and high and bright soul.... It passed—all passed. He felt the darkness, but then the starlight.