"Is that abbey as rich as they claim?"
"It is rich.... But why do you ask?"
"Why?" said the soldier with a merry smile, "because Bertchram and we are to take possession of the abbey, which the good Charles has bestowed upon us."
"But I heard it said that Charles had bestowed the monastery and all its dependencies upon one Berthoald."
During this conversation the other riders had joined their vanguard, followed by several carts drawn by mules and a few horses led by the bridle. The carts were loaded with baggage. Bertchram rode at the head of the main body. He was an elderly warrior of rude and stupid physiognomy. Amael took a few steps toward the count. The latter suddenly stopped his horse, dropped the reins, and rubbed his eyes as if he could not believe the evidence of their sense. He contemplated the son of Rosen-Aër for a few seconds in utter amazement, and then cried: "Berthoald! Count Berthoald!"
"Yes, it is I.... Good-day to you, Bertchram!"
Bertchram alighted from his horse and ran toward the young man to contemplate him closer. "It is he ... and no mistake! And what are you doing here, valiant count, in the company of these beggars?"
"Speak not so loud. I am on a mission from Charles."
"Bareheaded in that way? Without arms, your clothes soiled with mud and almost in rags?"
"It is a disguise that I have assumed."