On the eve of that council Stephen the Marshal spent an hour with the princess. She made him sit beside her in the White Tower; she spoke to him at length, in a low voice telling a story. Stephen listened with his eyes held by hers, then, when she kept silence, bowed his face upon his hands and sat so for a time. At last he raised his head. “Mine is a plain mind, my Lady Audiart,—only a faithful one! There are many good words, and ‘friend’ is a right good word, a high knight among them, and ‘friendship’ is a noble fief. I take ‘friend’ and ‘friendship’ for my wearing and my estate, my Lady Audiart—aye, and I will wear them knightly, not cravenly, with a melancholy heart! Friend to you and friend to him, and Saint Michael my witness! loyal servant to you both.” “Stephen, my friend,” answered the princess, “you say true that great liking is a great knight, and lasting friendship is a mighty realm! It plants its own happiness in its own fields.” She rose, and standing with him at the window, spoke of old things, old long memories that they had in common, spoke of her father, Gaucelm the Fortunate. The next day she held council, sitting on the dais robed in blue, a gold circlet upon her head, facing her barons and knights-banneret, churchmen who held lands from her, and leaders of the townsmen. That which she had to lay before them was the matter of her marriage.... At Castel-Noir the dark fir trees wore emeralds. The stream had its loud spring music. Nor Foulque nor Garin had been idle through the winter. Back to the black tower and the hamlet had come their men who had fought at Roche-de-Frêne—Foulque’s men and the men who had come with Garin from the land over the sea. Houses had to be built for these—more fields ploughed and planted. Stables had to be made larger. The road was bad that led from the black tower to the nearest highway; it was remade. When spring came Castel-Noir was in better estate than ever before. Garin spoke of what manner of priest they should bring in—and of some clerk who might be given a house and who could teach. Raimbaut the Six-fingered had for his fief been man of Montmaure, but for it Montmaure had been man of Roche-de-Frêne. Now, again, was it only Roche-de-Frêne’s. Montmaure might look blackly across from his own borders, but that was all.... It seemed that, escheating to the ruling house, the barony was not yet given, for service paid and to be paid, to some lord who should rebuild the castle and bring up the lands that now were waste.... Foulque had hours of speculation as to that. In the hall, of evenings, he looked out of the corners of his eyes at Garin, reading or dreaming by the fire. Who had done greater service, fought better, than Garin? If the princess were truly wise—if she were grateful— * * * * *