Gervaise's grief was for a time excessive. He was nearly twelve
years old, and had never until now been separated from her even
for a day. She had often spoken to him of her end being near, but
until the blow came he had never quite understood that it could
be so. She had, on the night before her death, told him that he
must not grieve overmuch for her, for that in any case they must
have soon been sundered, and that it was far better that he should
think of her as at rest, and happy, than as leading a lonely and
sorrowful life.

The grand prior, however, wisely gave him but little time to dwell
upon his loss, but as soon as her funeral had taken place, handed
him over to the knights who had the charge of the novices on
probation, and instructed them in their military exercises, and
of the chaplain who taught them such learning as was considered
requisite for a knight of the Order.

The knights were surprised at the proficiency the lad had already
attained in the use of his weapons.

"By St. Agatha," one of them exclaimed, after the conclusion of his
first lesson, "you have had good teachers, lad, and have availed
yourself rarely of them. If you go on like this you will become
a distinguished knight of our Order. With a few more years to
strengthen your arms I warrant me you will bear your part well in
your first tussle with the Moslem corsairs."

It fortunately happened that a party of knights were starting for
Rhodes a few days after the admission of Gervaise to the Hospital,
and the letter to Sir Peter D'Aubusson was committed to their