of the accursed stain of treachery, he would be perfectly happy to
be the Count de Gobignon.

Friar Mathieu broke in on his thoughts. "You feel you must do something
grand and noble to make up for your father's wickedness. Listen: A man
can live only his own life. The name de Gobignon, what is it? A puff of
air. A scribble on a sheet of parchment. You are not your name. You are
not Simon de Gobignon."

Simon's blood turned to ice. _Does he know?_

But then he realized Friar Mathieu was speaking only figuratively.

"But men of great families scorn me because I bear the name de
Gobignon," he said. "I will have to live out my life in disgrace."

"God respects you," said Friar Mathieu quietly and intensely. "Weighed
against that, the opinion of men is nothing."

_That is true_, Simon thought, and great chains that had weighed him
down as long as he could remember suddenly fell away. He felt himself
gasping for breath.

Friar Mathieu continued. "The beauty of my vows is that with their help
I have come to know who I truly am. I have given up my name, my
possessions, the love of women, my worldly position. You need not give
up all those things. But if you can part with them in your mind, you can
come to know yourself as God knows you. You can see that you are not
what people think of you."

Tears of joy burned Simon's eyelids. _Thank you, God, for allowing me to
meet this man._

"Yes," Simon whispered. "Yes, I understand."

"But," said Friar Mathieu, a note of light reproof in his voice, "I know
you have not told me everything."

Caught by surprise, Simon was thankful that the lantern up ahead started
swinging from right to left, a ball of light against the stars.

De Pirenne's voice came back faintly to Simon. "Orvieto!"

From the cart in front of Simon, the one carrying the Tartars, came the
sound of loud snoring. An Armenian chuckled and said something in a
humorous tone, and the others laughed. Simon pretended to be intensely
interested in what the Armenians were saying and in the view up ahead.

"Simon," said Friar Mathieu.

_If he has relieved me of one burden, can he not take away the other,
the greater?_

"Patience, Father. We are coming to the spot where the road bends around
the mountain, and we will be able to see Orvieto. Everyone will be
gathering to rest a bit. Let us wait until we are spread out on the road
again."

Friar Mathieu shrugged. "As you wish."

Across the valley the silhouette