“What deity do you serve?” cried the bishop. “None,” said the heretic; whereupon, with three mighty blows of his mace, Turpin scattered over the field the amethysts, topazes, and carbuncles that covered the Pagan’s shield. At the third blow the soul of Abyme fled to the regions below. Climborin smote down Angelier of Gascony, but he did not live more than ten seconds to enjoy his conquest. Miton had seen the deed, lowered his lance, and pierced the Pagan’s throat. “There, dog! you may go boast of your victory!” said he, as he rode off. Oliver had rested but little all this while; he drove right and left at the ranks of the enemy, brandishing Hauteclaire, mowing the Saracens down like stubble. His shield was of gold, charged with a red cross. “That is a foul blazon,” said Valdabron, striking the shield with his lance. “Nevertheless, you shall bow to it,” answered the brother of Aude, and with one back-stroke he beheaded the paynim. The Duke Sanche was slain: it was Haucuidant who struck the fatal blow; by his hand, too, perished Gerin and Anseis, Beranger and Guy de St. Antoine. But Roland rode right at the Pagan, and with the hilt of Durandal crushed his face in, and flung him, an unrecognisable corpse under his horse’s hoofs. “It is truly sad that we can only kill once a hound who has done so much mischief.” Then the knight stood up in his stirrups, and gazed around him. Merciful heavens, what a sight! Out of the twenty thousand Franks who had come there, but sixty remained alive. “By my hopes of Heaven!” said Roland, “I should die the happier if I could but bear Marsillus with me to the grave. But how can I find him amid such a mêlée?” Mitaine heard him. “I will show him to you, if you will follow me;” and she began to strip off her armour piecemeal. Roland caught her by the arm to stop her--? “What proof of madness are you going to give us now?” “You take wisdom for folly, my lord. Do you think I should be suffered to pass, wearing your colours? My mother used to scold me for spoiling my clothes; they might get damaged now.” “And you think I am going to let you perish like this?” “Is it not absurd to make all this difficulty about it? Have we not come here to die?” And Mitaine freed herself from his grasp, and sprang on a Saracen horse that she caught as it went riderless by. She was naked to the waist, and her golden hair floated around her shoulders. She seemed like the spirit of youth. Death fled from the presence of such lofty courage. “Come and seek me, dastard of a Croquemitaine!” she cried. “Here I am well protected from thee.” Roland followed her; his eyes were blinded with tears. “Merciful heaven! what will they say of me for all these deaths? I shall scarce dare to show myself to-night in Paradise.”