“The matter is this, then, my dear father,” said the chamberlain.  “The goldsmith of the court, here, has conceived a great love for a girl belonging to the abbey, and I charge you, as you would have me grant the favors you may seek hereafter, to liberate this girl.”

“Who is she?” asked the abbot of the burgess.

“She is named Tiennette,” replied the goldsmith, timidly.

“Oh! ho!” said the good old Hugo, smiling.  “Then the bait has brought us a good fish.  This in a grave case, and I cannot decide it alone.”

“I know, father, what these words are worth,” said the chamberlain, frowning.

“Beau sire,” replied the abbot, “do you know what the girl is worth?”

The abbot sent for Tiennette, telling his clerk to dress her in her best clothes, and make her as brave as possible.

“Your love is in danger,” said the chamberlain to the goldsmith, drawing him one side.  “Abandon this fancy; you will find everywhere, even at court, young and pretty women who will willingly accept your hand, and the king will help you to acquire an estate and title—­you have gold enough.”

The goldsmith shook his head.  “I have made my choice, and embarked on my adventure,” said he.

“Then you must purchase the manumission of this girl.  I know the monks.  With them, money can accomplish everything.”

“My lord,” said the goldsmith to the abbot, turning towards him, “you have it in charge and trust to represent here on earth the bounty of Providence, which is always kind to us, and has infinite treasures of mercy for our miseries.  Now I will enshrine you, for the rest of my days, each night and morning in my prayers, if you will aid me to obtain this girl in marriage.  And I will fashion you a box to enclose the holy Eucharist, so cunningly wrought, and so enriched with gold and precious stones, and figures of winged angels, that another such shall never be in Christendom,—­it shall remain unique, shall rejoice your eyes, and so glorify your altar that the people of the city, foreign lords—­all, shall hasten to see it, so wondrous shall it be.”

“My son,” replied the abbot, “you have lost your senses.  If you are resolved to have this girl in wedlock, your property and person will escheat to the chapter of the abbey.”

“Yes, my lord, I am devoted to this poor girl, and more touched by her misery and truly Christian heart, than by her personal perfections.  But I am,” said he, with tears in his eyes, “yet more astonished at your hardness, and I say it, though I know my fate is in your hands.  Yes, my lord, I know the law.  Thus, if my goods must fall into your possession, if I become a serf, if I lose my home and my citizenship, I shall yet keep the skill developed by my culture and my studies, and which lies here,” he added, touching his forehead, “in a place where God alone, besides myself, is master.  And your whole abbey cannot purchase the creation of my brain.  You will have my body and my wife, but nothing can give you my genius, not even tortures, for I am stronger than iron is hard, and more patient than suffering is great.”