therefore, all competent judges, are unanimous in their opinion that you have deserved the highest honours that Genoa can bestow upon you, it is useless for you to set up your own opinion to the contrary.  Take the good things that fall to you, Sir Gervaise, and be thankful.  It is seldom that men obtain more honours than they deserve, while it very often happens that they deserve far more than they obtain.  Fortune has doubtless some share in every man’s career; but when it is not once, but several times, that a knight gains special credit for deeds he has performed, we may be sure that fortune has less to do with the matter than his personal merits.  Three times have you earned special credit; upon the first occasion, the grand master —­ no mean judge of conduct and character —­ deemed you worthy of secular knighthood, an honour which has not, in my memory, been bestowed at Rhodes upon any young knight; on the second, you were promoted to the command of a galley, though never before has such a command been given to any, save knights of long experience; and now, for the third time, the councillors of one of the greatest of Italian cities are about to do you honour.  It is good to be modest, Sir Gervaise, and it is better to underestimate than to overrate one’s own merits, but it is not well to carry the feeling to an extreme.  I am quite sure that in your case your disclaimer is wholly sincere and unaffected; but take my advice, accept the honours the world may pay you as not undeserved, determining only in your mind that if you deem them excessive, you will at least do all in your power to show that they are not ill bestowed.  You will not, I trust, take my counsel amiss.”

“On the contrary, Sir Fabricius,” Gervaise said warmly.  “I am really but a boy yet, though by good fortune pushed strangely forward, and I am glad indeed to receive council from a knight of vastly greater experience than myself and, in future, however much I may be conscious in my own mind that anything I have done is greatly overrated, I will at least abstain from protest.  And now, Countess, I must pray you to excuse me.  I know that Sir Ralph Harcourt is, before this, down at the dockyard waiting my coming to engage sailors.”

“You will come tomorrow at the same time, I hope, Sir Gervaise.  As Claudia’s sworn knight we have now a claim upon you, and for the short time that you remain here you must regard this as your home, although you must necessarily remain the guest of the doge.”

“He is a fine young fellow, indeed,” Caretto said, after Gervaise had left.  “There is no affectation about his modesty, and he really considers that this success he has gained is solely a stroke of good fortune.  Of course, I have been asking many questions about him of the young knights of his own langue, Harcourt among them.  They tell me that he is always in earnest in everything he undertakes.  He is without a rival among the younger knights of