We walked along corridor after corridor, through lofty halls, and up and down wide staircases crammed full of curious and costly gems of art, until it seemed as though the colossal palace was an endless maze of enchantment and voluptuous grandeur. At the foot of the last staircase Volinè and her maidens passed away through a lofty archway on the right, waving us a smiling farewell as she went, and we continued to follow the two marshals alone. At the top of this last flight of stairs we reached another archway, hung with soft and heavy draperies, on either side of which stood a guard, so still and inanimate that he looked carved out of the stone itself. As we crossed the twenty paces or so of the landing, these sphinx-like soldiers, with a common impulse, flung the curtains wide apart, and we passed through into a magnificent banquet-chamber. The scene before us dazzled us with its splendour. We had thought to meet the King alone, perhaps with his daughter; but, instead, we saw him sitting at the head of a table, round which a hundred male guests were also seated, to whom a sumptuous feast was evidently about to be served. Five vacant seats, two on one, and three on the other side of the King, were empty, and to these, all travel-stained and grimy from the fight in the cave, we were conducted. "Men of Ramos, we meet more happily than we parted. Welcome to our morning feast. Eat and refresh yourselves, and having done so we may then speak together," said the King, bowing and smiling graciously. We each kept silence, but acknowledged the old King's cordial greeting with a respectful bow. Then the meal commenced, and was continued in solemn silence, course after course, until the last dishes had been removed, and huge bowls of wine-like liquid had been placed upon the table. Now the attendants withdrew, and shortly afterwards, from some hidden chamber, strains of sweet ravishing music poured in subtle cadence, and women's voices were heard singing a dreamy madrigal. Then came a solo in a woman's voice, more entrancingly beautiful than all the rest, rising and falling in matchless compass--a song that had for its theme the birth and trials and triumph of Love. Was this last sweet, hidden singer Volinè? And did she sing the story of her own tender passion? One of us at least was certain that the voice he heard was that of his beloved, and the words that wandered through the banquet-hall, like a hymn from Paradise, were addressed to him. Stirred to his soul's depth's, he listened, entranced, with throbbing pulses, to the message that was sung to him by a woman who was fashioned fairer than the cunningest conception of earthly man could picture! At last the music ceased, the singer's voice was hushed, and amidst a death-like silence, which held the assembled guests in thrall, the King addressed us: