The Count Palatine had spurred fast to tell Charles that the Saxons were again in revolt, and were ravaging the banks of the Rhine. Roland sighed. “Aude--dearest Aude!” said he, “shall we never be united except in Paradise? If I thought so, I would hasten the period, and get myself killed in the very next fight.” But I should never finish my story if I were to relate to you all the expeditions of Charlemagne against the Saxons. He was always crossing the Rhine, sweeping away whole nations, receiving their submission, and taking hostages; but scarcely had he turned his back before he heard the growlings of a fresh eruption. You will learn all this from pages more serious than mine. I will only add, that in 777 Charlemagne assembled the Saxons and their rulers at Paderborn, and that a great many came, and were baptised. I must now resume my story. Charlemagne is at Paderborn, surrounded by his Court. Hildegarde had borne him a son, who received the name of Carloman. Aude was more lovely than ever. Miton was now thirty-two, Mita twenty-seven, and Mitaine eight. Oghris was growing old now. His coat was turning silvery. He now required a long ten minutes to quarter an ox, but his claws were still good. He had taken a mighty fancy to Mitaine; and often, when they had tried to separate them, the lion had grown so thin, and the child so melancholy, that they were compelled to abandon the idea. The god-child of Charlemagne had often been made the aim of assassins, and, without doubt, the same fate was intended for her that had befallen her brother. But Oghris was always at hand, and the murderers had to take to flight. On one occasion, however, one of them had not got off quickly enough, and so paid the penalty for the others. “Now, at last,” said Miton, “I shall understand the meaning of all this!” Unfortunately, the lion had not thought of this, and his victim was reduced to such small fragments that nothing could be discovered from them. [Illustration: 109] Charles flew into a great rage on hearing of the attempts to which his god-child had, more than once, nearly fallen a victim. “By Joyeuse! he who touches my god-child is a bold man. Tell me, Mitaine, have you no indication to give me which might put us on the track of this devourer of babes?” “None, my lord; the monster appears and disappears as if by magic.” “Well, be he fay, ogre, or vampire, I swear to Heaven I will deliver him into your hands. But until it is in our power to hang, draw, and quarter him, how shall we distinguish this monster, who wishes to devour you, by name?” “Let us call him Croquemitaine!” “So be it. Well, then, Croquemitaine shall be hanged: take my word for it.” In the year 777 Charlemagne celebrated Easter at Nimègue. [Illustration: 110] CHAPTER II. THE KING OF BEAUTY,