The news that arrived was a slender young nobleman, factional rather thin, blond hair, good looks and very young, judging by the expression girlish face. His clear and beautiful eyes also revealed a childlike candor, his gaze was that of a teen whose spirit had been developed so far away from the emotions, the pains and struggles of the world. However, the lines of the mouth and the sharp shape of the beard indicated a strong and determined character.

While not wearing the monastic habit, his doublet, breeches and stockings were thick dark color, which suited to a dweller in that holy house. In a broad cross-strap shoulder bag filled hanging of that time used by travelers, he carried in his right hand a stout stick shod and on the other hand his cap of brown cloth, sewn to the front had a medal with the image of Our Lady of Rocamadour.

‘I see you’re already ready to get in the way, dear child. And it is still curious coincidence, the abbot continued thoughtfully, was that in one day leave this monastery the most evil of their novices, and the young man whom we all consider as the most worthy of our young pupils and is also the darling of my heart.

‘You are too kind, my father said the young nobleman. For my part, if I was given choice, end my days in Belmonte. Here I had my sweet home since childhood and to leave this house I do it with real regret.