Stealing Heaven by Marion Meade Page B

father despised him, and about the lovely Alis, who dreamed of a fairy prince and who would, probably, die unwed in her uncle's castle.
    When Heloise stopped talking, Ceci said, "So?"
    "So—mayhap life outside Argenteuil is not any better than life inside it."
    "You don't believe that."
    No, she did not believe it. She decided to keep quiet. They had a fight over whether prayers to St. Denis were answered more quickly than those to St. Michael, and then they slept. It was late afternoon when they woke, and bells were ringing vespers. "It's time to go home," said Heloise crisply, "and we must stop at the baker's on the way."
    Ants were gorging themselves on the remains of the Brie. Ceci scooped up the cloth, ants and all, and stuffed it into the basket. They walked slowly and turned down the Rue de la Juiverie, then made another turn on Rue de la Pomme. There was a line at the baker's stall, but it seemed to be moving fairly quickly. Ceci stayed outside with the basket, and Heloise queued up behind a woman carrying a trussed goose under her arm. After the nap, she felt drowsy and the roof of her mouth was dry. She should know better than to drink whole wine at midday.
    After a few minutes, the line seemed to come to a dead halt. She peered over the head of the woman with the goose. A tall man was standing at the counter, pointing to one loaf and then another, asking question after question.
    "Is that white bread?" he demanded. "You're sure. How about that flat loaf over there? What's that made of?"
    He seemed utterly unperturbed by the baker's furious glances and by the customers stamping their feet impatiently at his rear.
    Out of curiosity, Heloise began to listen more attentively. The man behaved as if he had never seen the inside of a bakery before. Now he was asking the baker for the yeast content of the barley loaves. Smiling involuntarily, Heloise edged out of line and moved around so that she could get a better look at the fellow. He did not appear simple-minded; he was clean-shaven and had shaggy dark hair, well cut. The profile revealed a handsome face, intense and sensitive. His voice was as silvery as the summer Seine on a moonlit night.
    Someone behind her shouted angrily, "By St. Denis's holy farts, pay your money and move your ass!"
    He turned around then and bowed deeply in the direction of the irate voice. "Madame," he said, smiling broadly, "it took Our Blessed Savior three days to rise from the tomb and he was the Son of God. The least you can allot me is three minutes to purchase a loaf of bread."
    Heloise started to laugh, but the grin froze on her mouth. Paralyzed, she stared at the man's smiling face and then, when he had turned once more to the baker, at his back. She saw him drop a handful of oboles on the metal counter and shove a loaf of white bread under his arm. As he strode by her, she looked squarely into his eyes. His step faltered by half a beat. Smiling sheepishly, he said to her, "That's what comes of being wholly enslaved to one's stomach at regular intervals," and passed on.
    Stumbling out of line, she darted after him into the street, only to see his back vanish into a crowd of shoppers.
    Ceci ran up to her. "Heloise, you didn't get the bread."
    "Did you see that man?" She pointed vaguely toward the Petit Pont.
    "What—"
    Her voice rose feverishly. "The man who just walked out of here. With black hair and a loaf under his arm."
    Ceci frowned. "I guess. I don't know. Why?"  
    "That man is mine."
    â€œYours? What do you mean—yours? Heloise, what are you talking about?"
    "Nothing." Her heart was pounding; she gulped for air. "I didn't mean anything." Slowly she turned and walked back to the end of the line.
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    Jourdain returned as abruptly as he had departed. Two days before St. Barnaby's Day, he was back in the kitchen once more, inviting Heloise to attend a lecture at the palace garden. He was in a fever to be off because Abelard was scheduled