Another claimed his attention. Garin moved away, kept on upon the road. None now was going his way, all were coming from the direction of the castle. There must be a little bourg beyond, hidden by some arm of earth, purple-sleeved. He thought that he saw in the distance, descending a hill, a procession. Under a lime tree by the road sat an old cripple decently clad, and with a grandson and granddaughter to care for him. Garin again stayed his steps. “What manner of knight, father, is Sir Eudes de Panemonde?” The light being strong, the cripple looked from under his hand at the questioner. “Such a knight,” he said, in an old man-at-arms voice, “as a blue-and-tawny young sir-on-foot might be happy to hold stirrup for!” “I mean,” said Garin, “is he noble of heart?” But the old man was straining his eyes castle-ward. The grandson spoke. “He is a good lord—Sir Eudes! Sir Aimar may be a better yet.” The procession was seen more plainly. “They are coming, grandfather!” cried the girl. “Sir Eudes and Sir Aimar will be in front, and the men they take with them. Then the people from the castle and Panemonde following—” “Yea, yea!” said the old cripple. “I have seen before to-day folk go over seas to save the Holy Sepulchre and spare themselves hell pains! They mean to come back—they mean to come back. But a-many never come, and we hear no tales of what they did.” The grandson took the word. “Jean the Smith says that from the castle Sir Eudes walks barefoot and in his shirt to the church. That’s because of his old sin! Then, when all that go have heard mass and have communed, he will dress and arm himself within the monastery, all needful things having been sent there, and his horse as well. Then all that go will journey on to the port.” Garin spoke to the girl. “Who is Sir Aimar?” “He is Sir Eudes’s son.” She turned upon him a lighted face. “He is a brave and beautiful knight!” “Is he going to the land over sea?” “Yes.”