Out of that mood he passed into one less drear. But he was still sad, and the whole huge world came into correspondence. Lepers and outcast persons, prisoners, and slaves, the poor and hopeless, the lovers parted, the condemned for sin—Garin plodded on, his eyes upon the earth. A sound of distant bells aroused him. He lifted his head and looked to see whence it came. At the base of an olive-planted hill appeared a monastery, not large, but a simple-seeming, antique place. It had a church, small too, with a bell-tower. The country hereabouts was rich with woods and streams and purple crags, in the distance a curtain of great mountains. Before him, two miles or so away, Garin saw a castle crowning a cliff rising from a narrow valley. It, neither, was large—though larger than Raimbaut’s castle.... The bells were ringing sweetly, the light bathed the little vale and washed the crag and the castle walls. Garin’s sadness fell, in part, from him. What stayed only gave depth and charm to all that in that moment met his senses. In him phantasy turned quickly, acted quickly. “I like all this,” it said in effect. “And I tell myself that in the baron who dwells in that castle I shall find a lord who will knight me!” He resolved to go to the castle. He walked quickly now, with a determined, light step. A spur of the road led off to the church where the bells were yet ringing. Between the town he had quitted and this spot he had met few people upon the way. Nor were there any here, where the two roads joined. It lay a wide, clean, sunny space. But as he continued upon the highway the emptiness of the world began to change. Folk appeared, singly or in groups, and all were going toward the ringing bells. Passing an old man, he asked, “What is the mass for?” and was answered, “They are going over sea.” A young man, an artisan with a bag of tools in his hand, approached. Garin stopped him. “What lord lives in yonder castle?” “Sir Eudes de Panemonde,” said the artisan. “He has taken the cross and is going to the land over sea.” Garin stood still, staring at him, then drew his breath, and with a jerk of the head went on by. “The land over sea!” said Garin. “The land over sea!” There was a calvary built by the roadside. Men and women knelt before it, then rising, hurried on toward the church. Close by, on a great stone, sat a cowled monk, stationed there, it would seem, to give information or counsel. Garin, coming up, gave and received salutation. “Are you for the cross, fair son?” demanded the monk. “You would give a lusty blow to the infidel! Take it, and win pardon for even the sins you dream of!” “Why, brother,” asked Garin, “does Sir Eudes de Panemonde go?” “Long years ago,” answered the monk, “when he was a young man, Sir Eudes committed a great sin. He has done penance, as this monastery knows, that receives his gifts! But now he would further cleanse his soul.” “He is not then young nor of middle-age?” “He is threescore,” said the monk.