ave were close upon the spot where,
before entering the woodcutter's hut, Vortigern and Thetralde had tied
their mounts. The glimmer of the torch fell upon and lighted the white
body of Thetralde's palfrey, throwing into the shade Vortigern's horse
that was tied a few steps further away. The Emperor recognized his
daughter's favorite mount, and cried out:

"Thetralde's palfrey!" and immediately thereupon perceiving the hut
itself by the light of the torch borne by Octave, he added: "Oh, King of
the Heavens! Thanks be to you!" The Emperor quickly dismounted and
walking precipitately towards the hut which lay about twenty paces from
the path, he called back to Octave: "Walk faster! My daughter is there.
Precede me!"

Gifted with an eye even more piercing than Charles', Octave had
recognized with a shudder the horse of Vortigern close to Thetralde's
palfrey. Foreseeing the outburst of fury that the Emperor was about to
fall into at the spectacle that Octave surmised awaited his aged eyes,
the Roman resorted to an extreme measure. Affecting to stumble, he
dropped the torch in the hope of extinguishing it at his feet, as if by
accident. But Charles quickly stooped down, as quickly raised it and
rushed forward towards the entrance of the hut. Trembling with fear, the
young Roman followed closely behind the Emperor. Charles suddenly stood
still as if petrified at the threshold of the hut, whose interior was
now brilliantly lighted by the torch in the Emperor's hand. Having also
dismounted, Amael was enabled, without his steps being heard by
Charles, to draw nearer, and stood close to him at the very moment that,
struck with stupor, the Emperor of the Franks stopped, motionless.

Profoundly asleep, and stretched out upon the floor with his unsheathed
sword beside him, Vortigern barred the entrance to the hut. In order to
enter it, an intruder would have been compelled to walk over his body
that lay across the threshold. In the depth of the retreat, stretched on
a bed of moss and carefully wrapped in the lad's tunic, Thetralde
enjoyed a slumber as profound as her guardian at the entrance. The
girl's head and face, charming in their candor, rested on one of her
arms that lay folded beneath. So deep was the sleep of the two, that
neither the young girl nor Vortigern was at first awakened by the glare
of the torch.

Thick drops of perspiration rolled down from the forehead of the Emperor
of the Franks. The stupor that first sei