Paris: The Novel

girl, with a mass of thick black hair, and dark eyes to match, and large white teeth. He noticed one or two men try to flirt with her, and that she cut them off firmly. But from the moment their eyes met, he saw that she was interested in him. He’d stayed there quite a while. She’d told him she’d be free tonight. Her name was Louise.

    Now, as the evening sun burnished the face of Notre Dame, Roland crossed cheerfully to the Île de la Cité. Before continuing over to the Right Bank, he paused for a moment. On the left, downstream, was a bridge supporting a dozen water mills, behind which lay quays where the boats unloaded salt and herring from the Normandy coast. Past that, the narrow western tip of the island divided the Seine’s waters, gleaming golden in the sunset. And a little farther downstream, where the stout wall of Philip Augustus reached the riverbank, a small, square, high-turreted fort called the Louvre, equipped with massive chains that could be drawn across the river, stood guardian to the sacred city, protecting her from the rough invaders who might want to ravish her.
    Roland gazed westward at the warm sun, and smiled. It struck him as very convenient that Martine lived on the east side of the Right Bank, and Louise on the western side. With luck, he thought, he might be able to go from one to the other for some time.

    Martine was quite excited the following night as she waited for her lover to arrive. She had some sweetmeats and a jug of wine on the small table in her room. She had gone to confession the day before, and as always after penance and absolution, she felt a tingling sense of freshness, as if the world had been made anew. Despite the young man’s faults, she even found herself trembling a little in anticipation.
    She waited until darkness had fallen. Two of the servants slept in theattic of the main house, a third in the kitchen. The kitchen door was locked and bolted now, and the shutters closed. Her uncle would still be in his counting house, but that looked onto the street at the front.
    She put on a dark cloak and slipped down to the yard. Trailing clouds covered the moon. She was almost invisible. She went to the gate that gave onto the alley and slipped the bolts.
    Roland was waiting. He stepped swiftly into the yard. A moment later they were stealing up the winding stair to her room.
    The candle gave a warm light. The room was snug. Roland seemed in a cheerful mood. Quite pleased with himself, in fact. He was delighted with the little meal she’d prepared.
    “I went to confession yesterday,” she said with a smile, as she poured him more wine.
    “Have you so many sins to confess?”
    “Just you.”
    “Ah. A mortal sin. Did you receive penance and absolution?”
    “Yes.”
    “And do you mean to sin again?”
    “Perhaps. If you’re nice to me.” She looked at him curiously. “What about you? Do you go to confession?”
    “Now and then.”
    “Well, I should hope so, Roland,” she teased him gently. “Don’t forget you are tonsured. You are going to be a priest.”
    “Perhaps.” He shrugged. “These sins of the flesh are not so important.”
    “Is that what I am, then? A sin of the flesh?”
    “According to theology.” He looked away for a moment, and then continued almost to himself: “A woman with a husband would be a greater sin. A widow is different. And it’s not as if I’d seduced a girl from a noble family.”
    “It’s all right because I only come from a merchant family. A
bourgeoise
.”
    “You know what I mean.”
    Oh yes, she knew all right. He was noble, so he considered himself above the rest of humanity. This impoverished, inexperienced, cocky little aristocrat thought he could bed her because his ancestors had been friends of Charlemagne. And he expected her to accept it. Just like that. She had half a mind to throw him out.
    But she didn’t. She was in the mood to make love. And having gonethis far, she thought, she might as well get what she wanted. Two people could play the game of using someone.
    He put down his wine, and grinned. She assumed he was about to make a move toward her. But then he paused.
    “I didn’t tell you last time. But I saw your uncle in the market the other day. He stared at me as if he knew me. It was quite frightening. But then I realized it’s just the way he looks. You don’t think he knows about me, do you?”
    “He has no idea. I promise you.”
    “Glad to hear it.”
    Now he was ready to make