But the Abbot of Saint Pamphilius continued to gaze upon Garin, and to tap gently with his fingers upon the arm of the great chair. “I hold not,” he said softly, “with those who would condone concubinage, and who see no harm in a too fair cousin, niece, or servant in priests’ dwellings. It is all sin—it is all sin—and Holy Church must reprobate—yea, must chastise. But flesh is weak, my son, flesh is weak! Somewhat may be compounded—somewhat overlooked—somewhat pardoned! Especially, if not solely, in the case of those whose service is great. As for courtly love—” The abbot smiled. “When you come to courtly love,” he said, “there are many lordly churchmen have praised fair ladies!—Do I resolve your scruples, my son?” But Garin’s look showed no shaken determination. The abbot leaned back in his chair. “The time grows tender,” he said. “Womanish and tender! Your father would have known how to bring you to reason. Your grandfather would have disposed of you like any Roman of old. But now any sir squire is let to say, ‘I will’—or ‘I will not!’—Think not that I wish him about me who is sullen and intractable! Nor that I lack other kinsmen who are pleaders for that kindness I would have shown Castel-Noir! There is young Enric, Bernart’s son—and there are others.—Rise and begone to Raimbaut the Six-fingered’s keep!” Garin stood up. Foulque made to speak, but the abbot waved the matter down. “All is said. It is a trifle, and we will disturb ourselves no further. God knows, ungrateful young men are no rarity! Doubtless he hath, after all, Montmaure’s signet—What is it now?” Into the hall, from the court without, had come a sound of trampling hoofs and of voices—one voice sullen and heavy. Garin started violently, Foulque sprang to his feet. The great door was flung open, admitting a burst of wind that shook the hangings, and behind it, Sicart open-mouthed and breathless. “Master, master! here is Lord Raimbaut!” CHAPTER V RAIMBAUT THE SIX-FINGERED A LORD might of course visit one who held from him, often did so. But it was not Raimbaut’s use to ride to Castel-Noir. And Garin, parting from him less than a week ago, had heard no word of his coming. But here he was, pushing Sicart aside, striding into the hall, a low-browed, thick-skulled giant, savage with his foes, dull and grudging with his friends—Raimbaut the Six-fingered! Foulque hastened to do him reverence, make him welcome; Garin, stepping to his side, took from him his wide, rust-hued mantle and furred cap. “Well met, my Lord Raimbaut!” said the abbot in his golden tones. Raimbaut gloomed upon him. “Ha, Lord Abbot! Are you here for this springald, my esquire? Well, I have said that you might have him.” “Nay,” said the abbot mellowly, “I think that I want him not.” “—have him,” pursued Raimbaut. “And likewise his quarrel with Savaric of Montmaure.”