There she remained standing, like a saint carved in stone, stirring not,
until she could no longer see the burgess, who retired with slow steps,
turning every now and then to look upon her. And even when he was long
lost to sight, she remained there until nightfall, lost in reverie, and
not certain whether what had happened was a dream or bright reality. It
was late when she returned home, where she was beaten for her
tardiness,--but she did not feel the blows.

The good burgess, on his part, lost his appetite, closed his shop, and
wandered about, thinking only of the maiden of St. Germain, seeing her
image everywhere. On the morrow, he took his way towards the abbey, in
great apprehension, but still determined to speak to my lord abbot. But
as he bethought him that it would be most prudent to put himself under
the protection of some powerful courtier, he retraced his steps, and
sought out the royal chamberlain, whose favor he had gained by various
courtesies, and especially by the gift of a rare chain to the lady whom
he loved. The chamberlain readily promised his assistance, had his horse
saddled and a hackney made ready for the goldsmith, with whom he came
presently to the abbey, and demanded to see the abbot, who was then
Monseigneur Hugo de Senecterre, and was ninety-three years old. Being
come into the hall, with the goldsmith, who was trembling in expectation
of his doom, the chamberlain prayed the Abbot Hugo to grant him a favor
in advance, which could be easily done, and would do him pleasure.
Whereat, the wily abbot shook his head, and replied that it was
expressly forbidden by the canons to plight one's faith in this manner.

"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."