"Lord Viscount," he asked him, "what have you done with Nicolette, my sweetest love, the thing in all the world which I love best? "You have stolen her! "Be sure, Viscount, that, if I die of this, the blame shall fall on you. "For surely it is you who tear away my life in tearing away my darling Nicolette!" "Fair sir," answered the viscount, "do let this Nicolette alone, for she is not worthy of you. She is a slave whom I have bought with my _deniers_; and she must serve as a wife to a young fellow of her own state, to a poor man, and not to a lord like you, who ought to marry none but a king's daughter, or at least a count's daughter. "What should you be doing for yourself, if you did make a lady of this vile creature, and marry her? "Then would you be very happy indeed, very happy; for your soul would abide forever in hell, and never should you enter into paradise." "Into paradise?" repeated Aucassin angrily. "And what have I to do there? I do not care to go there if it be not with Nicolette, my sweetest darling whom I love so much. "Into paradise? And do you know who those are that go there,--you who think it is a place where I must wish to go? They are old priests, old cripples, old one-eyed men, who lie day and night before the altars, sickly, miserable, shivering, half-naked, half-fed, dead already before they die. These are they who go to paradise; and they are such pitiful companions, that I do not desire to go to paradise with them. "But to hell would I gladly go; for to hell go the good clerks, and the fair knights slain in battle and in great wars, the brave sergeants-at-arms, and the men of noble lineage; and with all these would I gladly go." "Stop!" says the viscount. "All which you can say, and nothing at all, are exactly the same thing. Never shall you see Nicolette again. "What you and I may get for this would not be pleasant, if you still will be complaining. "We all might be burned by your father's command,--Nicolette, you, and I myself into the bargain." "Despair!" said Aucassin to himself. And he left the viscount, who was quite as much disturbed as he. [_Now they sing it._] Then Aucassin went home; But his heart was wrung with fear By the parting from his dainty dear, His dainty dear so fair, Whom he sought for everywhere; But nowhere could he find her, far or near. To his palace he has come, And he climbs up every stair: He hides him in his room, And weeps in his despair. "Oh, my Nicolette!" said he, "So dear and sweet is she! So sweet for that, so sweet for this, So sweet to speak, so sweet to kiss, So sweet to come, so sweet to stay, So sweet to sing, so sweet to play, So sweet when there, so sweet when here, Oh, my darling! Oh, my dear! Where are you, my sweet, while I Sit and weep so near to die, Because I cannot find my darling dear?"[1] [_Now they speak it, and talk it, and tell it._]