“’There was a squire of low degree, Loved the king’s daughter of Hungarie,’” Caretto sang, with a laugh.  “You are not of low degree, but of noble family, Gervaise.  You are not a squire, but a knight, and already a very distinguished one; nor is the young lady, though she be a rich heiress, a king’s daughter.”

“At any rate, the squire was not vowed to celibacy.  No, no, Sir Fabricius, it is a dream, and a pleasant one; but I know perfectly well that it is but a dream, and one that will do me no harm so long as I ever bear in mind that it is so.  Many a knight of the Order before me has borne a lady’s gage, and carried it valiantly in many a fight, and has been no less true to his vows for doing so.”

“Upon the contrary, he has been all the better a knight, Gervaise; it is always good for a knight, whether he belongs to the Order or not, to prize one woman above all others, and to try to make himself worthy of his ideal.  As to the vow of celibacy, you know that ere now knights have been absolved from their vows, and methinks that, after the service you have rendered to Italy by ridding the sea of those corsairs, his Holiness would make no difficulty in granting any request that you might make him in that or any other direction.  I don’t know whether you are aware that, after you sailed from here, letters came from Rome as well as from Pisa, Florence, and Naples, expressive of the gratitude felt for the services that you had rendered, and of their admiration for the splendid exploit that you had performed.”

“No; the grand master has had his hands so full of other matters that doubtless an affair so old escaped his memory.  Indeed, he may have forgotten that I sailed before the letters arrived.”

“Do not forget to jog his memory on the subject, for I can tell you that the letters did not come alone, but were each accompanied by presents worthy of the service you rendered.  But as to the vows?”

“As to the vows, I feel as I said just now, that I would not free myself of them if I could, for, being bound by them, I can the more easily and pleasantly enjoy my dream.  Besides, what should I do if I left the Order without home, country, or means, and with naught to do but to sell my sword to some warlike monarch?  Besides, Caretto, I love the Order, and deem it the highest privilege to fight against the Moslems, and to uphold the banner of the Cross.”

“As to that, you could, like De Monteuil and many other knights here, always come out to aid the Order in time of need.  As to the vows, I am not foolish enough to suppose that you would ask to be relieved from them, until you had assured yourself that Claudia was also desirous that you should be free.”

“It is absurd,” Gervaise said, almost impatiently.  “Do not let us talk any more about it, Caretto, or it will end by turning my head and making me presumptuous enough to imagine that the Lady Claudia, who only saw me for three or four days, and that while she was still but a girl, has been thinking of me seriously since.”