Garin left his horse to crop the sweet grass and came and sat upon the boulder above the jongleur. “Tell me,” he said, “how it came to be so. I have a brother, older than me, who scoffs and saith that women did not use to be of such account.” The jongleur took up his lute again. “The troubadour whom, until the other day, I served, discusses that. He is proud and ungrateful, but yet for your edification, I will repeat what he says:— “As earthly man walks earthly ways, At times he findeth, God the praise! Far leagues apart, thousand no less, Fresh life, fresh light, that will him bless. It cometh not save he do beckon. He groweth to it as I reckon. And when it comes the past seems grey, And only now the golden day. Then in its turn the golden day Fadeth before new gold alway. And yet he holds the ancient gain, And carryeth it with him o’er the plain. And so we fare and so we grow, Wise men would not have it other so.” “That is a good rede,” said Garin. “It continueth thus,” answered the jongleur. “In time of old came Reason, King,— Ill fares the bow that lacks that string! When time was full, to give great light, Came Jesu’s word and churches’ might. Then Knighthood rose and Courtesy, And all we mean by Chivalry. These had not come, I rede you well, Save that before them rang a bell, ‘_Turn you, and look at Eve beside, Who with you roameth the world wide, And look no more as hart on hind._’ Now Love is seen by those were blind. Full day it is of high Love’s power. Her sceptre stands; it is her hour. And well I wis her lovely face To Time his reign will lend a grace!— But think ye not is made the ring! Morn will come a further thing.” The jongleur ceased to finger his lute; Garin sat silent on the boulder. The light, sifting through the trees, chequered his olive-green, close-fitting dress and his brown mantle. He sat, clasping his knee, his eyes with the blue glints at once bright and dreamy. “I have read,” he said, “that it is a great thing to be a great lover.” “So all the troubadours say,” quoth the jongleur. He put the ribbon of the lute around his neck, stretched himself and rose. “Miles still to the town! The day is getting on, and I will bid you adieu.” Garin, too, looked at the sun, whistled to Paladin and left the boulder. “My name is Elias,” said the jongleur, “and I was born at Montaudon. If you make acquaintance with a rich baron who would like to hear a new tale or song each night for a thousand running, bear me in mind. I play harp, viol and lute, and so well and timedly that when they hear me, mourners leave their weeping and fall to dancing. Moreover, I know how to walk upon my hands and to vault and tumble, and I have a trick with eggs and another with platters in the air that no man or woman hath ever seen into. I have also a great store of riddles. In addition, if need be, I can back a horse and thrust with a spear.”