“That won’t do,” he answered, staring at the ground. She knew he’d say that.

“You don’t want me,” she wailed. “I am lost.”

“No, no. I care for you,” he answered.

There was a long pause.

“He doesn’t mean to kill you,” she pointed out. “That’s something. They say that Abelard was a greater philosopher after it happened to him.”

It was clear from Roland’s face that philosophy wouldn’t console him.

“What can I do?” he cried.

It was time. She reached below her cloak and pulled out the knife. He shrank back.

“Here,” she said. “It’s for you.”

“For me?”

“If they come for you, use it. Don’t hesitate. You won’t have any time. They’ll mean business. But if you can kill them, or wound them, maybe it’ll stop him trying again. It’s your only hope.”

He took the knife. He weighed it in his hand, and pursed his lips. She saw him glance around.

And suddenly she thought she read his thoughts. The one thing she hadn’t allowed for. Could it be so? Was he wondering whether he should use the knife to kill her? To get her out of the way? Nobody had seen them. If she was dead, he could be thinking, her uncle would never discover his identity.

How could she have been so foolish? She’d brought the knife only to make her story seem more convincing. And she’d been so busy plotting her own revenge that she’d overlooked this weakness in the plan. She froze.

But then he shook his head and gave her back the knife.

“I have a weapon of my own,” he said. Though whether she had been wrong, or he had calculated the odds and decided against killing her, or his conscience had intervened, she would never know.

“I must go before I am missed,” she said. “But take care, my Roland. I fear we may never see each other again. May God protect you.” And pushing the knife back into her girdle, and covering her head with her shawl, she hurried out of the churchyard.

As she went back down the street toward the river, she wondered happily how many sleepless nights and nightmares he would suffer, and whether he would run away from Paris. And oh, the pleasure of watching the cocky little swine while he squirmed.

Revenge was sweet.

The rest of that day did not go well for Roland. He tried to go about his business. He attended a lecture. He went to his usual tavern, where he met some friends. He longed to share his troubles with them, but didn’t feel that he could. He bought bread, a little cured meat and some beans, and took them back to his lodgings.