Bayard at once went and touched the shield, whereupon Mountjoy, King-at-arms, who was there to write down the names, began to reason with him.  “How is this, Picquet, my friend; you will not be growing your beard for the next three years, and yet you think of fighting against Messire Claude, who is one of the most valiant knights of all France?” But the youth replied modestly:  “Mountjoy, my friend, what I am doing is not from pride or conceit, but my only desire is to learn how to fight from those who can teach me.  And if God pleases He will grant that I may do something to please the ladies.”  Whereupon Mountjoy broke out into a hearty laugh, which showed how much he enjoyed it.

The news soon spread through Lyons that Picquet had touched the shield of Messire Claude, and it came to the ears of the Sire de Ligny, who would not have missed it for ten thousand crowns.  He went at once to tell the King, who was greatly delighted and said:  “Upon my faith!  Cousin de Ligny, your training will do you honour again, if my heart tells me true.”  “We shall see how it will turn out,” was the grave reply; “for the lad is still very young to stand the attack of a man like Messire Claude.”

But that was not what troubled young Bayard; it was the question how to find money for suitable horses and accoutrements.  So he went to his companion, Bellabre, and asked for his help.  “My friend, I beg of you to come with me to persuade my uncle, the Abbe of Ainay, to give me money.  I know that my uncle, the Bishop of Grenoble, would let me want for nothing if he were here, but he is away at his Abbey of St. Sernin at Toulouse, which is so far off that there would be no time for a man to go there and back.”  “Do not trouble,” said his friend, “you and I will go to Ainay, and I trust we shall manage it.”  This was some comfort, but the young warrior had no sleep that night.  He and Bellabre, who shared the same bed, rose very early and took one of the little boats from Lyons to Ainay.  On their arrival, the first person they met in the meadow was the Abbe himself, reading his prayers with one of his monks.  The two young men advanced to salute him, but he had already heard of his nephew’s exploit, and received him very roughly.  “Who made you bold enough to touch the shield of Messire Claude?” he asked angrily.  “Why, you have only been a page for three years, and you can’t be more than seventeen or eighteen.  You deserve to be flogged for showing such great pride.”  To which his nephew replied:  “Monseigneur, I assure you that pride has nothing to do with it, but the desire and will to follow in the steps of your brave ancestors and mine.  I entreat you, sir, that, seeing I have no other friends or kindred near, you will help me with a little money to obtain what is needful.”

“Upon my word!” exclaimed the Abbe, “go and seek help elsewhere; the funds of my abbey are meant to serve God and not to be spent in jousts and tournaments.”  Bellabre now put in his word and remonstrated.