Meanwhile, Abélard the lover was at war with Abélard the philosopher. Gradually, to their astonishment and dismay, it dawned upon his students in the Sainte Montagne, that the metaphysical speculations of their Master had lost something of the accustomed brilliance; that the well of his eloquence was drying up. Then came a greater shock. Maitre Pierre, their own Maitre Pierre, was writing love songs, like any ballad-monger; and all Paris was singing them. They were very beautiful love songs, sincere love songs; for Abélard and Héloïse were in love. Few knew it, least of all Fulbert, who, dreaming the days away in his stall in the choir of Notre Dame, appears to have had no suspicions concerning the bona-fides of the philosopher in his house. But, one day, coming home unexpectedly, he surprised the lovers in a close embrace. His fury was intense. All his love for Abélard changing to hate, he drove him from the house. He might well have done more than that, had he known all; had he known that Héloïse was to become a mother. Abélard, in this crisis, appears to have acted with a certain degree of courage. He entrusted his mistress to the care of his sister, Denise, at the Bourg du Pallet, in Brittany, where she went in a nun's dress, to avert suspicion as to her real condition. He endeavoured, too, to obtain the forgiveness of her father; and even promised to marry his daughter, on condition that the alliance was kept secret; but Héloïse, with characteristic greatness of mind, refused to compromise his career by so tightening his bonds. "The title of mistress," she said, speaking with the extraordinary abandonment of self that she always displayed toward her lover, "is infinitely sweeter to me than that of wife." She allowed herself to be persuaded, however, and, after the birth of her child, a son, she returned to Paris, where the secret marriage was celebrated, and Abélard returned to his scholastic duties. But the presence of Héloïse irked him; probably he felt it impossible to play the double part of husband and philosopher, while his wife was within reach; and he succeeded in persuading her, docile as ever, to return to the cloisters of Argenteuil. So far, he had suffered the least of the three involved in this tragedy; but Nemesis was close at hand. Fulbert, outwardly satisfied, was contemplating a dire revenge. All Paris was startled, one morning, by the rumour of an extraordinary crime. A ruffian, armed with a razor, had broken into Maitre Pierre's house, at night, and had shamefully mutilated the teacher. It was true. Abélard was unsexed; and Fulbert, fully avenged, had fled from Paris. Loud was the lamentation in the Sainte Montagne.