His school was near Fulbert’s house.  He asked Fulbert to allow him to call.  The good old swivel saw here a rare opportunity:  his niece, whom he so much loved, would absorb knowledge from this man, and it would not cost him a cent.  Such was Fulbert—­penurious.

Fulbert’s first name is not mentioned by any author, which is unfortunate.  However, George W. Fulbert will answer for him as well as any other.  We will let him go at that.  He asked Abelard to teach her.

Abelard was glad enough of the opportunity.  He came often and staid long.  A letter of his shows in its very first sentence that he came under that friendly roof like a cold-hearted villain as he was, with the deliberate intention of debauching a confiding, innocent girl.  This is the letter: 

“I cannot cease to be astonished at the simplicity of Fulbert; I was as much surprised as if he had placed a lamb in the power of a hungry wolf.  Heloise and I, under pretext of study, gave ourselves up wholly to love, and the solitude that love seeks our studies procured for us.  Books were open before us, but we spoke oftener of love than philosophy, and kisses came more readily from our lips than words.”

And so, exulting over an honorable confidence which to his degraded instinct was a ludicrous “simplicity,” this unmanly Abelard seduced the niece of the man whose guest he was.  Paris found it out.  Fulbert was told of it—­told often—­but refused to believe it.  He could not comprehend how a man could be so depraved as to use the sacred protection and security of hospitality as a means for the commission of such a crime as that.  But when he heard the rowdies in the streets singing the love-songs of Abelard to Heloise, the case was too plain—­love-songs come not properly within the teachings of rhetoric and philosophy.

He drove Abelard from his house.  Abelard returned secretly and carried Heloise away to Palais, in Brittany, his native country.  Here, shortly afterward, she bore a son, who, from his rare beauty, was surnamed Astrolabe—­William G. The girl’s flight enraged Fulbert, and he longed for vengeance, but feared to strike lest retaliation visit Heloise—­for he still loved her tenderly.  At length Abelard offered to marry Heloise —­but on a shameful condition:  that the marriage should be kept secret from the world, to the end that (while her good name remained a wreck, as before,) his priestly reputation might be kept untarnished.  It was like that miscreant.  Fulbert saw his opportunity and consented.  He would see the parties married, and then violate the confidence of the man who had taught him that trick; he would divulge the secret and so remove somewhat of the obloquy that attached to his niece’s fame.  But the niece suspected his scheme.  She refused the marriage at first; she said Fulbert would betray the secret to save her, and besides, she did not wish to drag down a lover who was so gifted, so honored by the world, and who had such a splendid career before him.  It was noble, self-sacrificing love, and characteristic of the pure-souled Heloise, but it was not good sense.