A driver of mules—twenty with twenty loads of sawn wood and sacks of salt and other matters—caught up with him. Garin and he walked side by side and the former learned whence the road came and where it went. As for the world hereabouts, it belonged to Count Raymond of Toulouse. Garin, walking, began to sing. “You sing well, brother,” said the muleteer. “If you dwelt with animals as I do, your voice would crack! They do not understand me when I sing. They think that I mean that they may stand still and admire.—Ha! May God forget and the devil remember you there! Get up!” They travelled with pauses, jerks, and starts, so at last Garin said, “Farewell, brother!” and swung on alone. Half an hour later he, in turn, came up with a pedlar, a great pack wrapt in cloth on his back, sitting resting by the wayside. “Who’ll buy?” called the pedlar. “Here’s your fine pennyworths!” Garin stopped beside him and considered the pack. Travelling merchants of a different grade, going with laden horses from fair to fair, might have with them, cut, fashioned and sewed, a dress that would do for an esquire. But not a poor pack-aback like this. He shook his head. “No money?” asked the pedlar. “Thumb of Lazarus! how this sickness spreads!” Other wayfarers came in sight. “Who’ll buy?” called the pedlar. “Here’s your fine pennyworths!” Garin left him chaffering with a rich villein, and went his own way along the sunny road. Toward noon, rounding a hill, he came upon a little village. He bought from the nearest house bread and cheese and a cup of goat’s milk, and sat down under a mulberry tree to eat and drink. As he made an end of the feast, two girls came and stood in the house door. They studied his appearance, and it seemed to find favour. He smiled back at them. “Where do you live?” asked one. “In the moon.” “Ha!” said the girl. “It was as round as an egg last night. You must have dropped out. And where are you going?” “To the sun.” “Hè! You will be sunburned. Whose man are you?” “Lord Love’s.” The girls laughed for joy in him. “Hè! We see his collar around your neck! What does he make you do?” “He makes me to serve a lady.” “‘Ladies!’ We do not like ‘ladies’! They are as proud as they were made of sugar!” “In the court of Lord Love,” said Garin, “every woman mounts into a lady.” One of the girls laughed more silently than the other. “Oh, the pleasant fool!” she said. “You go on a long pilgrimage when you go to Compostella. But to that court would be the longest I have ever heard tell of!” The other dug her bare foot into the ground. “If you are in no hurry, the house can give you work to do, and for it supper and lodging.” “I have to reach the sun. And who would do that,” said Garin, “must be travelling.”