The Virgin of Roche-de-Frêne, crowned and dazzling, stood in blue samite with her heart and arrow, but said no word and gave no sign.... Raimbaut and his knighthood—the Abbot and Holy Church—and Foulque with his song, “Choose the Abbot! Work hard and be supple and further the ends of Holy Church, twining your own ends with that golden cord. No telling to what height you may rise! Great wealth and power fall to them who serve her to her profit and liking. You crave learning. On which road, I put it to you, will you gather most of that?” So Foulque. And Bishop Ugo had preached, this morn, of the glory and power of Holy Church and of the crowns laid up for them who served her. The squire sighed deeply. He must make decision. The Abbot would not always keep that look of invitation. He had other young and needy kinsmen. Worldly considerations enough flitted through Garin’s head, but they found something there beside themselves. “In deep truth, which is mine? To endure until I may ride as knight and find or make some door in a high, thick wall? To take the tonsure—to study, work and plan—to become, maybe, canon, and after long time, larger things?... Which is mine? This—or that—or either? O Blessed Lady, I would choose from within!” The tall, jewelled Queen of Heaven looked serenely down upon him. She had ceased to breathe. The sign seemed not to be coming. He had before him a long ride, and he must go, with or without the token. He kept his position yet another minute, then, with a deep sigh, relinquished the quest. Rising, he stepped backward from the presence of the Virgin of Roche-de-Frêne, out of the line of the Saracen pillars. As he went, the climbing shaft of amber light caught his eye and forthwith Jacob’s ladder came into his head, and he began to send slim angels up and down it. He had a potent fancy. Leaving the church, he passed Boniface of Beaucaire and Hugues the Free Lance. His step made a ringing on the pavement beside their prone heads. He felt for them no contempt. They were making, more or less, an honourable amende. Everybody in their lives had done or would do penance, and after life came purgatory. He passed them as he might pass any other quite usual phenomenon, and so quitted the cathedral. Outside was Roche-de-Frêne, grey, close-built, massed upon the long hill-top, sending spurs of houses down the hillsides between olive and cypress, almond and plane and pine—Roche-de-Frêne, so well-walled, Roche-de-Frêne beat upon, laved, drowned by the southern sun.