Amael, who followed Charles at a goodly distance, keeping himself well in the shadow, also fell into a gallop the moment he noticed the torchlight that guided him suddenly move with increased swiftness into the darkness. The Emperor and Octave 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.