  MITAINE had followed Charlemagne into Spain. She was now so skilful in the use of her sword that her want of strength was not noticeable. She rode well, and easily bore the weight of hauberk and suit of mail, casque and greaves of steel. She only needed wings to be so like, as to deceive the spectator, one of the armed cherubs who accompany the Archangel Michael. Charlemagne, who had not forgotten the attacks of which Mitaine had more than once been the object, gave her a command of twenty men, under pretence of rewarding her for her good services. It was, in reality, a body-guard which he established about her. From this moment, then, please to picture to yourselves our fair young friend marching proudly at the head of her twenty veterans. The precaution was a wise one. It happened, however, that Mitaine one day wandered forth beyond the bounds of the camp. Night overtook her in a forest, which, however lovely by daylight, was not at all an inspiriting spot at night. She dismounted in the midst of a glade, where she resolved to await the return of day rather than venture further. It was so dark that the Old Gentleman himself—sharp-sighted as he is—could not have seen his tail before him or behind him. Mitaine stretched herself on the sward, sleeping with one eye and waking with the other. Before lone the moon showed herself above the horizon, but her light could scarcely penetrate the thick foliage, and only lighted imperfectly some portions of the thicket. Mitaine heard approaching footsteps, and was instantly on the alert. “What a fool I am!” she said to herself, after listening for a few seconds; “it is my horse trampling on the broken branches.” Again she heard it: it was impossible for her to close her eyes. All was now silent, but the silence alarmed her more than the noise. Three times she called her steed—“Vaillant, Vaillant, Vaillant!” A distant neigh was the only response. She rose and went on tiptoe to inspect the spot where she had tied up her horse, but her horse was gone. Then she fancied she could make out under one of the trees a human form—a little further off another,—a third—in short, she counted eight. She saw them move, and come towards her in a circle, which narrowed every moment. She drew her sword, and rushed on them; but soon found herself seized by powerful hands, which grasped her like a vice. Nevertheless she did not lose heart, but began to fight and struggle, to bite and hit out to such effect that, if the night had been less dark, one might have seen a writhing mass of human forms struggling fearfully. Every time when they thought they held her prisoner she contrived to break loose. It was no easy work for the attackers or the attacked, for none of them could see a bit. One would have declared it was blind men quarrelling over their booty. “Why don’t you use your weapons?” said a sinister voice. The speaker was merely a spectator of the combat. “It is easier to say use your weapons than to do it,” answered one of the ruffians. “One can’t see a bit, and the young demon goes on so that we don’t know how to get hold of her.” Mitaine continued to lay about her on all sides until one of her opponents cried out, with a fierce oath, “Curse the girl! she has stabbed me in the eye!” And the wounded man in his fury, listening only to the voice of rage, struck out wildly and hit one of his comrades, whereupon ensued a general melee, of which the young girl availed herself to escape. “Farewell, Croquemitaine!” she cried; “he will have to be swift of foot who overtakes me in running.” But instead of making her escape she climbed into a tree, and hid herself among the branches. “Follow her! I swear by the Evil One that I’ll hang every one of you if she escapes!” Mitaine now heard her enemies groping among the underwood, trying the holly and juniper bushes with the points of their swords, until at last the sound died away, and she heard no more. However, she determined on remaining in her place of concealment until dawn. “I shall know how to recognise you this time, Master Croquemitaine! One of your fellows has lost an eye, and I have noticed that they have a Westphalian accent,” said the brave girl, as she reached the ground. “If Heaven conducts me safely to the camp of my royal sponsor, you shall be uncloaked, I will promise you on my faith!” She knelt down, breathed her matin prayer, and resumed her way, trusting to Providence to recover her right path. When she had walked for about an hour she heard distant shouts, and the blast of a horn. “Who can tell what I may have to encounter now? Prudence is not cowardice; so I had better conceal myself, and reconnoitre.” Again Mitaine climbed into a tree, and watched. Before long she saw a party of soldiers approaching, exploring the forest, beating the bushes, and shouting to the full extent of their lungs. She then heard her own name, and recognised her father, who, in great alarm, headed the searchers in person. She was not long in descending from her perch, I assure you. How delighted she was to fling herself into Miton’s arms! For a minute they occupied themselves in exchanging embraces and broken sentences, to which neither thought of listening, and which had to be begun afresh as soon as the first outbreak of joy was over. The Count of Rennes related his fears at not seeing his beloved child return on the previous evening, his alarm when Vaillant returned home alone, and how he had spent the night in searching the forest. Having said thus much, he allowed his words to give place to renewed caresses.
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