Marsillus was taking a nap. He was lying on cushions of priceless material. The pavilion in which he had sought repose was of stained ivory, inlaid with gold. In the midst a joyous fountain diffused coolness around it; while an incense, compounded of musk, ambergris, and camphor, made into a paste with distilled otto of roses, burning in marble bowls, filled the air with sweetness. All at once the daylight turned sickly pale. A chill like that of the tomb succeeded the agreeable coolness and the perfumes yielded to sickening odours like those of the grave. The flowers faded; all that was brightest became dull and tarnished; and a corpse came and seated itself beside the King of Saragossa. It scarcely retained the human form, being made up of shreds and rags of flesh, and rendered only the more hideous by the gay robes in which it was enveloped. “My father!” said the corpse, “have you, then, forgotten me?” Marsillus opened his eyes, uttered a shriek, and, after gazing round vainly for some way of escape, sank back motionless, with haggard eyes and bristling locks, and bathed in a cold sweat. [Illustration: 121] “Is it thus you receive your son, after a separation of ten years? Open your arms to me, beloved monarch, for I hunger for your embrace!” On seeing Murad approaching him, the terrified Marsillus sprang to his feet, and strove to get out of his way, but in vain. The corpse caught him in its arms, folded him to its bosom, which cracked in a ghastly way with the force of the hug, and “covered with cold and clammy kisses the face and white locks of the King of Saragossa, on which they left gory stains! “Leave me--depart!” shrieked the old man. “What have I done to you, or what would you have me do?” “I would be avenged on Roland of France.” “I will avenge you, Murad. But now leave me, if you do not wish me to perish on the spot.” And Marsillus, putting forth all his strength, freed himself from the embraces of his son, and rushed to the other end of the chamber.