On Tuesday, the eleventh of October, Jacob was down in the Grève market on the riverbank when he happened to see Renard. The two men chatted for a little while. And Renard was just departing when he casually remarked: “Do you remember Aaron, the rabbi’s son?”

“Certainly,” Jacob replied.

“Do you know, I could have sworn I saw him in the street yesterday. I don’t suppose it was him. But if he has sneaked back into Paris, he’d better be careful. He could get arrested.”

Jacob stared at him in horror, but quickly recovered himself.

“I should think it’s unlikely,” he said, with a shake of the head. “He’d be a fool if he did come back.”

But the moment Renard was out of sight, he hurried out of the market at once.

“Where is Naomi?” he cried, as he burst into the house. Sarah told him she’d just returned from a walk with her little brother. “She’s here?” he demanded.

“She went out again. She’s gone to that stall she likes in the rue Saint-Honoré, to buy some ribbon,” her mother replied. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

Then, in low tones, Jacob quickly told her about Aaron.

“Not a word to anyone,” he cautioned. “Nobody must know. Go to the ribbon stall and see if you can find her. Then come back and meet me here.” Meanwhile he went to saddle his horse.

Sarah didn’t find her. Within the hour, Jacob was on his way. He crossed the river to the Left Bank and took the rue Saint-Jacques, the pilgrims’ path, that led toward the south. If they had started for Savoy, they would probably have gone that way.

And now, two days later, he knew he had lost her. Naomi’s cunning letter made that quite clear. For a long time, he stared at the shining carpet of mist over Paris. The rising sun was starting to strike the towers of Notre Dame, making them gleam.

He started to read the letter again.

It wasn’t long. After some expressions of affection, she announced that she had news that she knew must cause them sorrow. She thanked her father for offering her such a fine collection of worthy suitors, and allowing her to choose a husband from among them. But now she must make a confession. She loved another.

I love another. He is a good young man, but I know he would not be acceptable to you, for he has no fortune. He comes from Aquitaine, where his father is a miller. He came to Paris as a servant in a nobleman’s household. But now he is returning to Aquitaine. And I go with him.

I am his woman. We shall marry when we reach his home. He has promised it.