At that time, and for long afterwards, each trade kept by itself to its own street or district. The mercers and haberdashers lived in West Chepe or Cheapside, which Stephen had to go down every day. One morning, at the end of those eight years, he noticed that a shop long empty had been reopened, and over it hung a newly-painted signboard, with a nun's head. As Stephen passed, a woman came to the door to hang up some goods, and they exchanged a good look at each other. "I wonder who it is you are like!" said Stephen to himself. Then he passed on, and thought no more about her. On two occasions this happened. When the third came, the woman suddenly exclaimed-- "I know who you are now!" "Do you?" asked Stephen, coming to a halt. "I wish I knew who you are. I have puzzled over your likeness to somebody, and I cannot tell who it is." The woman laughed, thereby increasing the mysterious resemblance which was perplexing Stephen. "Why," said she, "you are Stephen Esueillechien, unless I greatly mistake." "So I am," answered Stephen, "or rather, so I was; for men call me now Stephen le Bulenger. But who are you?" "Don't you think I'm rather like Leuesa?" "That's it! But how come you hither, old friend? Have you left my cousin? Or is she--" "The Lady Derette is still in the anchorhold. I left her when I wedded. Do you remember Roscius le Mercer, who dwelt at the corner of North Gate Street? He is my husband--but they call him here Roscius de Oxineford--and we have lately come to London. So you live in Bread Street, I suppose, if you are a baker?" Stephen acknowledged his official residence, mentally reserving the private one, and purposing to give Ermine a hint to confine herself for the present to Ivy Lane. "Do come in," said Leuesa hospitably, "and let us have a chat about old friends." And lifting up her voice she called--"Roscius!" The mercer, whom Stephen remembered as a slim youth, presented himself in the changed character of a stout man of five-and-thirty, and warmly seconded his wife's invitation, as soon as he recognised an old acquaintance. "I'm glad enough to hear of old friends," said Stephen, "for I haven't heard a single word since I left Oxford about any one of them. Tell me first of my brother. Is he living and in the old place?" "Ay, and Anania too, and all the children. I don't think there have been any changes in the Castle." "Uncle Manning and Aunt Isel?" "Manning died three years ago, and Isel dwells now with Raven and Flemild, who have only one daughter, so they have plenty of room for her." "Then what has become of Haimet?" "Oh, he married Asselot, the rich daughter of old Tankard of Bicester. He lives at Bicester now. Romund and Mabel are well; they have no children, but Haimet has several." "Both my cousins married heiresses? They have not done badly, it seems."