He saw the thing clear and sharp, as if in a magic glass.
There was a long road before the house of Beaumanoir, and on the extreme horizon a great brightness.
Now he remembered that he had always known it, known it even when his head had been busy with ardent hopes.

He had loved life and had won life everlasting.

He had known it when he sought learning from wise books.
When he kept watch by his armour in the Abbey church of Corbie and questioned wistfully the darkness, that was the answer he had got.

In the morning, when he had knelt in snow-white linen and crimson and steel before the high altar and received back his sword from God, the message had been whispered to his heart.

In the June dawn when, barefoot, he was given the pilgrim's staff and entered on his southern journey, he had had a premonition of his goal.