These final words of the manuscript of poor Voudran are almost pathetic: “I know not while I write this by whom it may be read, and I care not so long as it is kept from that Society of Fools at Nancy, who scorned me, who ostracised me, and who wrecked my life. I know only that my eyes will be closed and my lips will be dumb when this protest goes out to the great and unfeeling and cruel world.” CHAPTER II. Afar down the centuries in the good year 779 A.D., on a certain afternoon in the golden month of August, the greatest excitement was visible about the palace of the great Emperor Charlemagne at Paris. The royal armies, headed by that great warrior, had been victorious over the Saracens, in which battle “Guesdelin, the Sluggard,” their general, had been killed, and he, surrounded by his victorious legions, had returned to Paris in triumph to celebrate the _fêtes_ of the Pentecost in company of his brilliant court. Although in that sanguinary battle he had met with the deplorable loss of several of his bravest knights, Noel, Count of Mans, Arnoue de Froulon, Albert de Bouillon, Solomon de Bretagne and a number of others; nevertheless the _fêtes_ were not made less brilliant by the absence of these brave men. There had assembled at Paris for his great occasion, all the dukes and peers of France with their glittering retinues, and with them also came many princes and noblemen from other courts of Europe to assist in the festivities. Among all that brilliant assemblage the most remarked were the brave Duke d’Aymon, Lord of Dordogne, and his four gigantic sons, Maugis, Allard, Guichard and Richard, all handsome and courageous young men. Maugis, above the others, commanded the admiration of the entire court, his height, for he was seven feet tall, his valor and his great learning, for he was the pupil of a pundit whose life had been saved by his father during the Saracenic wars, and who had enriched his young charge from his vast store of occult knowledge, had made him renowned already, and it was generally conceded that he was destined for a great career. The great audience chamber was packed with this brilliant assemblage on that August afternoon, and the babble of voices that filled the air fell into a profound hush upon the entry of the emperor. Unbefitting the joy of the occasion, his brow was clouded by a deep frown, and gazing upon the sea of upturned faces before him for awhile, he arose from his throne and amid a great silence addressed them in these words: