The necessities of nature had forced on them an intimacy of one sort--while each had pretended not to notice, the other had used the chamber pot discreetly placed behind the red and green diamonds of a screen. She had been the first to fall asleep. Sleep had overtaken him, too, but each time he dozed off he started to topple off the small straight chair he was sitting on. The fourth or fifth time this had happened he gave up sitting and stretched out on the carpet. "Quickly, Simon, please. If my uncle ever finds out you were here, he will send me back to Siracusa." _God forfend!_ The habits of his knightly training took over, and he strode quickly to the corner, where he had left his sword and belt leaning against the wall, and buckled them on. He remembered that Alain was supposed to sing an aubade, a dawn song, in the street below to warn and rouse him. An old troubadour custom. Perhaps he had sung, and Simon, sleeping so soundly, had not heard. "Did you hear anyone singing out in the street?" he asked. Sophia smiled and shook her head. _Blast Alain. He must have overslept, too._ Sophia said, "But how will you get out of here? It is not as easy to climb up to the roof as it is to climb down from it." Simon went to the window and pushed the curtain aside. The rope he had climbed down on was still dangling from above. He gave it a hard pull, and it held firm. He looked up at the sky. It was a deep violet with only a few faint stars and one brightly shining planet. _The morning star might be Venus, a good omen for a lover._ His heart was light, even though he was leaving Sophia. It had been a beautiful night. A half-filled cup of wine stood on the table by her bed. He swigged it to rinse his mouth, swallowed, then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He tried to think of some parting word worthy of a troubadour, but none occurred to him. She stood by the bed, her eyes warm. He held out his arms and she slipped into them with as much ease as if they had been lovers for years. She was so much shorter than he that he had to lean down to kiss her, and as he did she arched her body against him. "I love you," he whispered, embarrassed by its prosaic simplicity. But it was simple truth. "And I love you." She kissed him quickly on the lips and turned away. Her words stunned him. He felt for a moment as if he were going to fall dead on the spot. And that if he did, it would be a perfect moment to die. The candles were almost burned to the bottom. He looked over at the painting of Saint Simon Stylites, whose blue eyes seemed to gleam out at him from the shadows.