I AM unable to tell you what followed. Even Roland had no clear recollection. When he recovered his senses, he rose and cast his eyes round him, to find himself in the midst of a vast sandy plain, stretching on all sides to the horizon. The sun poured its hostile rays upon him so fiercely, that in a few minutes his armour became insupportably hot. The atmosphere was so charged with electricity, that the plume of his helmet crackled, and gave out sparks. In vain he searched the horizon for a place of shelter—there was nothing to be seen but level plain and blue sky. Gigantic red ants came and went busily—they were the only occupants of this desert. All of a sudden he beheld before him in the distance white mosques, knots of palms, and a sea-port with some vessels at anchor, and others sailing out of the harbour. He saw, too, long caravans, which journeyed to the city gates.

Roland felt his courage revive, and set out in the direction of the city. But he did not appear to come any the closer to it; he took to running until he fell down with fatigue on the burning sand. Then the city seemed to turn of a yellow hue, the blue of the sea grew paler, and was lost in that of the sky; the trees vanished, and the Count of Mans found himself once more alone in the desert.

“Why come to a halt?” said he to himself. “Better move forward in any direction at hap-hazard. I can only gain by the change.”

He rose, determined to struggle on as long as his limbs would sustain him. What was his surprise to see, in an opposite direction to that he had just been pursuing, a mountain covered with verdure, on the summit of which stood a castle! Three walls of circumvallation surrounded it. At the foot of each flowed a river covered with vessels of war. Three hanging ladders of marvellous workmanship united the three platforms of the fortress, and four bastions guarded the approach to each ladder.

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Roland once more pushed on; but as he advanced, the fortress rose into the skies, until, after about an hour’s walking, he found himself with nothing before him save the blank horizon of the desert. Then despair seized him. He sank on his knees, crossed himself, and shed four tears, the first he had ever wept. They fell on the sand, and there formed four springs for a stream of cool and clear water. Roland received from this new vigour, and having rendered thanks to Providence, he was preparing to move forward, when he remarked with surprise a great stirring of the sand. Little clouds of dust began to rise in all directions, although there was not a breath stirring. Then the sand began to whirl round incessantly, marking a great circle at a short distance from our hero.

As it began to whirl, it heaped itself up, drawn towards the centre by some strange force of attraction. You would have said that some gigantic polypus was sucking up all the sand of the desert. After a few minutes there mounted, still eddying round, a huge column, which grew as Roland watched it, until the summit was lost to sight in the sky. A hot wind, like the harmattan of the Guinea coast, rose and drove the sand before it in clouds. The sun turned red as molten iron.

The pillar of sand at last lost its equilibrium, and fell with a horrible rushing sound. Roland closed his eyes, but he did not recoil. Hearing a great roar of laughter, he instinctively clutched his sword by the hilt. What he saw next induced him to draw it from its sheath.

The sand, in falling, had reared a mound, the base of which formed an enormous circle, in the centre of which Roland perceived, with surprise, a huge monster buried in sand to his waist. It was Eblis, the Devil of the East.

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His Majesty was a hundred feet in height, which is a respectable size, even for a demon of the highest rank. His black skin, striped with red, was covered with small scales, which made it glisten like armour. His hair was so long and curly, a snake might have lost its way in it. His flat nose was pierced with a ring of admirable workmanship, as you see done to the wild bulls of the Roman Campagna. His white teeth, set with precious stones, gave to his smile a very variegated appearance. His small eyes assumed, one after the other, all the prismatic colours, which made it impossible to sustain his gaze. His ears, which exactly resembled those of an elephant, flapped on his shoulders; but he had, to make up for it, a tail sixty feet long, terminating in a hooked claw, which could have wielded the Monument easily as a toothpick.

Eblis had no other covering than his wings, which were large, soft, and marvellously pliable, and in which he delighted to wrap himself. Conceive, further, that a phosphorescent gleam played incessantly over the monster’s skin, and you will easily understand why Roland unsheathed Durandal.

Eblis was writhing with laughter.

“I haven’t roared so through all eternity, upon my honour! Here, I say, my little man, do you know you have just done a master-stroke?”

This familiar tone displeased Roland.

“I have just met Mahomet,” continued Eblis, “and you have broken five of his front teeth. I have seen a good many prophets in my time, but I vow, on the faith of the accursed, I never saw one in such a rage. I have, in honour of the blow, given three days’ holiday in the infernal regions. There will be concerts, balls, hunts, and theatres. I have had written, by one of our best authors, a little comedy in the style of Apollodorus, in the last scene of which Mahomet receives a hundred strokes of the bastinado. I have given orders to an army of cooks; you can hear even here a rattle of stew-pans altogether refreshing. I will undertake to let you see we are not so backward in this respect as people pretend. You will meet with many old friends among the guests; we have quite a crowd of visitors just now. My wife, who is a lively one, will be delighted to make your acquaintance. Come, let me present you to her as the best of my friends.”

“Babbler!” exclaimed Roland, but little flattered at these marks of friendship. “What right have you to address me in this style?”

Eblis, who was not accustomed to be treated so cavalierly, was dumb with surprise for a moment.

“By my father’s horns!” said he, at last, “I must have misunderstood you. Give me your hand, Roland, to disabuse me of the error.”

He stretched out his tail to the knight, who, however, only drew back a few steps.

“What, puny wretch!” shrieked Eblis, turning as white with rage as it was possible for one so black to do. “I shall send you back to earth. Do you think I am of the same stuff as Mahomet?”

“But here Roland flung his second gauntlet in the demon’s face.

“That makes the pair!” said the nephew of Charlemagne, placing himself in an attitude of defence.

“Zacoum Zimzim Galarabak!” shouted Eblis, mad with fury. (You must know that is the most terrible oath that can be uttered in the Saracen tongue.) The earth shook and gaped at Roland’s feet. He felt himself launched into space. His armour suddenly became icy cold.

“If I get back without an attack of rheumatism I shall be lucky,” said the knight.

He heard around him the flapping of wings; it was a troop of afreets and djins.

“Reflect, Roland. There is yet time. Mahomet is prepared to forgive you.”

All the answer Roland vouchsafed was the intoning of the canticle—

“Sub tuum FrÆsidium confugimus.”

“In a few moments your body will be dashed to pieces on earth. Remember the wondrous things the Prophet offered to share with you.”

“Sancta Dei genitrix; nostras deprecationes ne despicias,” continued Roland. And now it seemed to him that, instead of falling at hazard, he was being gently carried. The chorus of afreets and djins was left far behind, but he still heard the sound of pinions.

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“Set your mind at rest,” said a voice so exquisitely musical that Roland trembled to hear it. “I am the Archangel Michael. Our Blessed Lady has sent me to preserve you. She had been touched by your constancy and courage. Repose in safety on my wings, and we shall soon reach earth.”

And, in truth, in a few minutes’ time the Count of Mans, to his astonishment, found himself before Saragossa. He was at prayer in his tent when he heard the voice of Miton.

“My dear Roland, where are you?” cried the Count of Rennes, anxiously.

“Here I am,” said the knight, hurrying to his friend.

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“Charlemagne, who knows how punctual you are, seeing you were ten minutes behind your time to take on your guard, has sent to look for you in every direction. You are pale, my dear Count; what has happened to you?”

“I will tell you all about it,” said Roland, as he hastened to his post near the Emperor.

END OF THE SECOND BOOK.