"Father," Thetralde resumed, raising her head and attaching her candid looks upon the Emperor of the Franks, "I must tell you everything. Not so? Everything—absolutely everything?"
"Yes, my little darling, without omitting anything." But after a second's reflection, Charles said to Octave: "Plant that torch in the ground, and watch our horses with this young lad."
The Roman bowed and obeyed; accompanied by Amael's grandson he stepped out of the hut.
"What, father, you send Vortigern out?" remarked Thetralde in an accent of sweet reproach. "I would on the contrary, have wished him to remain near us, in order to confirm or complete my story, my dear father."
"All you tell me, my dear daughter, I shall believe. Speak, speak without fear before me and the grandfather of the worthy lad."
"Yesterday," Thetralde began, "I was on the balcony of the palace when Vortigern rode into the courtyard. Learning that he came hither as a prisoner, so young, and wounded, besides, I immediately took an interest in him. When shortly after, he came near being thrown from his horse, perhaps even killed, I was so frightened that I uttered a cry of dread. But when Hildrude and myself saw that he proved himself an intrepid horseman, we threw our nose-gays to him."
"You both told me how you admired the skilfulness of the lad's horsemanship, but you said nothing about the throwing of your bouquets. Well, let us proceed—continue."
"I certainly was very happy at your return home, good father. Yet, I must confess to you, it seems to me that my thoughts turned as much on Vortigern as on yourself. All night my sister and I talked about the young Breton, about his gracefulness, about his comely face that was at once sweet and bold—"
"That is all very well—that is all very well. Let us skip all that, my daughter. Let us drop the details concerning the lad's looks."
"Then you object, father, to my telling you all? He made a deep impression upon us."