Heart-broken to think that his lady-love is undergoing captivity in his behalf, Aucassin spends his time moping.  To induce him to fight, his father finally promises that if he will go forth and drive away the foe he will be allowed to see Nicolette and kiss her.  The prospect of such a reward so fires the young hero, that he sallies forth, routs the besiegers, and, seizing the Count of Valence, brings him back a prisoner.  On entering the castle, he immediately begins to clamor for Nicolette, but his father now declares he would rather see the maiden burned as a witch than to let his son have anything more to do with her.  Hearing this, Aucassin indignantly declares such being the case he will free his prisoner, an act of generosity which infuriates his father, who hopes to be enriched by the count’s ransom.  To punish Aucassin, the Count of Biaucaire now thrusts him into prison, but, although the lovers are sharing the same fate, they languish apart, and, therefore, spend all their time lamenting.

One night, when the moon is shining bright, Nicolette, who has heard she is likely to be brought to trial and burned, decides to effect her escape.  As the old woman who mounts guard over her is fast asleep, she softly ties together her sheets and towels, and, fastening them to a pillar, lets herself down by the window into the garden, from whence she timidly steals out into the night.

The poem now artlessly describes Nicolette’s beauty as she trips over the dewy grass, her tremors as she slips through the postern gate, and her lingering at the foot of the tower where her lover is imprisoned.  While pausing there, Nicolette overhears his voice lamenting, and, thrusting her head into an aperture in the wall, tells him that she is about to escape and that as soon as she is gone they will set him free.  To convince her lover that it is she who is talking, Nicolette cuts off a golden curl, which she drops down into his dungeon, repeating that she must flee.  But Aucassin beseeches her not to go, knowing a young maid is exposed to countless dangers out in the world, and vehemently declares he would die were any one to lay a finger upon her.  He adds that she alone shall be his wife, and that the mere thought of her belonging to any one else is unendurable.  This declaration of love cheers poor Nicolette, who is so entranced by her lover’s words that she fails to notice the approach of a patrol.  A young sentinel, however, peering down from the walls, touched by Nicolette’s beauty and by the plight of these young lovers, warns them of their danger.  But not daring to speak openly to Nicolette, he chants a musical warning, which comes just in time to enable her to hide behind a pillar.  There she cowers until the guards pass by, then, slipping down into dry moat,—­although it is a perilous undertaking,—­she painfully climbs up its other side and seeks refuge in a neighboring forest, where, although the poem informs us there are “beasts serpentine,” she feels safer than in town.