“He will choose knighthood,” said Foulque. “He has no doubt of winning it.” The abbot lifted his brows. He looked with dignity into the fire, then back at Foulque and at Garin the squire. “It pains me,” he said, “the folly of mankind! Are you born prince, count or baron, then in reason, you must run the course where you are set. Though indeed, time out of mind, have been found castellans, vavasours, barons, dukes, and princes who have laid aside hauberk, shield, and banner, and blithely come with all their wealth into the peaceful hive of Holy Church—so rightly could they weigh great value against low! But such as you, young man—but such as you—poor liegemen of poor lords! What would you have? Verily, the folly is deep! By no means all who would have knighthood gain it, and if it is gained, what then? Another poor knight in a world where they are as thick and undistinguishable as locusts!—Ha, what do you say?” Garin’s lips had moved, but now he flushed red. “Speak out!” commanded the abbot, blandly imperious. “What was it that you said?” Garin lowered his eyes. “I said that there were many churchmen in the world, as thick and undistinguishable—” Foulque drew a dismayed breath. But the Abbot of Saint Pamphilius laughed. He sat well back in his chair and looked at the squire with freshened interest. “Granted, Bold Wit! The point is this. Did you show me here the signet ring, not—God defend us!—of Raimbaut the Six-fingered, but of Raimbaut’s lord and yours, Savaric of Montmaure, then would I say, ‘So you have your patron! Good fortune, fair kinsman, who are half-way up the ladder!’” He looked at the squire and laughed. “You have it not by you, I think?” Garin shook his head. “Well then,” said the abbot, “choose Holy Church. For here, I think,”—he spoke very goldenly,—“you may show a patron. A feeble one, my son—of course, a feeble one—” Garin came from behind Foulque, kneeled before the abbot, and thanked him for great kindness and condescension. “But, Reverend Father, with all gratefulness and humbleness, yet I will not the tonsure—” The abbot with a gesture kept him kneeling. “There is some reason here that you hide. You are young, you are young! I guess that your reason goes by name of woman—” Garin knelt silent, but Foulque uttered an exclamation. “No, Reverend Father, no! What has changed him I know not, but it has happened here at Castel-Noir, since yesterday! There is no woman here, in hut or tower, that could tempt him—”