At a great distance, and above the rocks of Montagut, he saw the black
silhouette of his castle standing out against the blue, transparent
background of the night sky--“My castle is far away and I am weary,” he
muttered. “I will await the day in this village-hut near by,” and he
bent his steps to the hut. He knocked at the door. “Who are you?” they
demanded from within. “The Baron of Fortcastell,” he replied, and they
laughed in his face. He knocked at another door. “Who are you and what
do you want?” these, too, asked him. “Your liege lord,” urged the
knight, surprised that they did not recognize him. “Teobaldo de
Montagut.” “Teobaldo de Montagut!” angrily repeated the person within, a
woman not yet old. “Teobaldo de Montagut, the count of the story! Bah!
Go your way and don’t come back to rouse honest folk from their sleep to
hear your stupid jests.”