“Adieu, my sweet one!  If you go into the town, come to my house, over against St Leu’s Church.  I am called Master Anseau, and am silversmith to the King of France, at the sign of St. Eloi.  Make me a promise to be in this field the next Lord’s-Day; fail not to come, even should it rain halberds.”

“Yes, dear Sir.  For this I would leap the walls, and, in gratitude, would I be yours without mischief, and cause you no sorrow, at the price of my everlasting future.  Awaiting the happy moment, I will pray God for you with all my heart.”

And then she remained standing like a stone saint, moving not, until she could see the good citizen no longer, and he went away with lagging steps, turning from time to time further to gaze upon her.  And when he was far off, and out of her sight, she stayed on, until nightfall, lost in meditation, knowing not if she had dreamed that which had happened to her.  Then she went back to the house, where she was beaten for staying out, but felt not the blows.  The good silversmith could neither eat nor drink, but closed his workshop, possessed of this girl, thinking of nothing but this girl, seeing everywhere the girl; everything to him being to possess this girl.  Now when the morrow was come, he went with great apprehension towards the abbey to speak to the lord abbot.  On the road, however, he suddenly thought of putting himself under the protection of one of the king’s people, and with this idea returned to the court, which was then held in the town.  Being esteemed by all for his prudence, and loved for his little works and kindnesses, the king’s chamberlain—­for whom he had once made, for a present to a lady of the court, a golden casket set with precious stones and unique of its kind—­promised him assistance, had a horse saddled for himself, and a hack for the silversmith, with whom he set out for the abbey, and asked to see the abbot, who was Monseigneur Hugon de Sennecterre, aged ninety-three.  Being come into the room with the silversmith, waiting nervously to receive his sentence, the chamberlain begged the abbot to sell him in advance a thing which was easy for him to sell, and which would be pleasant to him.

To which the abbot replied, looking at the chamberlain—­

“That the canons inhibited and forbade him thus to engage his word.”

“Behold, my dear father,” said the chamberlain, “the jeweller of the Court who has conceived a great love for a bondswoman belonging to your abbey, and I request you, in consideration of my obliging you in any such desire as you may wish to see accomplished, to emancipate this maid.”

“Which is she?” asked the abbot of the citizen.

“Her name is Tiennette,” answered the silversmith, timidly.

“Ho! ho!” said the good old Hugon, smiling.  “The angler has caught us a good fish!  This is a grave business, and I know not how to decide by myself.”

“I know, my father, what those words mean,” said that chamberlain, knitting his brows.