Just here knelt a youth, in a squire’s dress of green and brown. He had no penance to perform. He was kneeling because he was in a kneeling mood. The light showed a well-made, supple figure, with powerful shoulders. The head and throat were good, the face rather long, with strong features, the colouring blonde inclining to brown, the eyes grey with blue glints. They were directed now to the image of the Virgin, above him in her niche, the other side of the gold light. She stood, incredibly slender, and taller than human, rose-cheeked, dressed in azure samite sewn with gems, with a crown, and in her two hands a crimson heart pierced by an iron arrow. A lamp burned before her, and there were flowers around. The youth knelt with a fixed gaze, asking for inspiration.... The Virgin of Roche-de-Frêne seemed to move, to dilate, to breathe, to smile! The young man sank his head, stretched forth his arms. “O Our Lady, smile on me! O Our Lady, give me to-day a sign!” The cathedral grew a place of mystery, of high, transcendent passion. The lamp appeared to brighten, the heart in the two hands to glow. “Is it a sign that I am to serve Her in Holy Church?” thought Garin de Castel-Noir, “or, may-hap, that I am to serve Her with lance and shield? Is it a sign, or am I mistaken? If it were a sign, would I ask if I were mistaken?” He sighed. “O High God, give me a sign!” He had to decide no less a thing than his career. Until a little while ago he had thought that matter settled. He was esquire to a poor lord, a fierce and a stupid lord, and he had no hope but to remain esquire for years perhaps to come. But, come soon or come late, one day his lord would make him knight. That done, and his saint favouring, he might somehow achieve honour. Three months ago his lot had seemed as fixed as that of a fir tree growing below his lord Raimbaut’s black keep. Then into the matter had stepped the Abbot of Saint Pamphilius, that was kinsman of Garin and of his brother, Foulque the Cripple, who bided at Castel-Noir. With simplicity, the squire explained it to Our Lady of Roche-de-Frêne: “He is our near kinsman, and he knows how poor are Foulque and I, and he knows, too, Lord Raimbaut, and the little we may expect. And now he says that if I will give up hope of chivalry and take the tonsure, he will be my good patron. And if I work well with head and pen and prove myself able, he will charge himself that I advance and win great promotion. If I serve him well, so will he serve me well. O Our Lady,” ended Garin, “he is a great man as you know, and close friend to Bishop Ugo. Moreover, he and Foulque have made application to my lord Raimbaut and won him to consent. And Foulque urges me toward Holy Church. But O Blessed Lady,” cried Garin, and stretched forth his arms, “do I wish to go? I know not—I know not!”