I found them together, behind some stables at the back of the auberge, chaffering with a sturdy farmer of the neighbourhood in regard to a proposed exchange of Master Moric Endem's piece of lean cattle for a fine, fresh, sturdy, but rather vicious horse belonging to the other. Moric had offered, it seems, to give his own horse, and all the remains of the crown which I had given him the day before, together with another crown that Andriot had lent him, for the more powerful and befitting charger which had been placed before his eyes. The farmer, however, stood out for another piece of money, and I was fain now to come forward and give it, though the price seemed to be somewhat exorbitant.[1] The horse that Moric already possessed was anything but fit for the journey; and, as he willingly agreed that I was to be considered the proprietor of the beast now purchased, it gave me a greater command over him than I might otherwise have obtained. After all this was concluded and the horse in his hands, I gave a glance towards my new follower's figure, and saw that it certainly was as much improved as his form and features would admit. The buff jerkin was now cleared from its rusty stains and spots of dirt, and was shining in the full freshness of chalk and yellow ochre. It seemed scarcely dry as yet, indeed; but that circumstance he did not appear to mind; and the plain steel cap with flying cheek-pieces, into which he had thrust his head, had been painted with a sort of Indian black since the night before, so as to look very smart, without offering a very shining or conspicuous point to the eye of a watchful enemy. No other piece of armour had yet been put on, I suppose in order to give the buff jerkin time to dry; but when, after having told him to hasten his preparations for departure, I came down once more with Andriot to mount my horse, I found Master Moric armed from head to foot, with his cuirass also painted black; thus hiding, in a great measure, the unseemly patch upon his right side.