XVIII.

"Seigneurs Barons, which of you shall we send As messengers to Sarraguce where rules Marsile?"--Rollánd responds:--"Behold me here!" "--You shall not, by my troth!" cries Olivier, "Your pride too fierce, and courage far too hot; I fear some misadventure from your zeal. Should our King grant me but his leave, 'tis I Will go!"--The King exclaimed:--"Be silent both-- Nor you, nor he, shall yonder set your foot! Ay, by this hoary beard of mine, I swear, Not one of my twelve Peers shall thither go." The French are dumb---all silenced by these words. Aoi.