The abbot had hardly been a quarter of an hour on the road, when he heard the gallop of an approaching horse behind him. Turning, he saw a rider coming towards him at full speed. It was Vortigern. The abbot drew in his reins, yielding to a last ray of hope. "May your coming be propitious. Morvan regrets, I hope, the insensate resolution that he took?"
"Morvan regrets that in your hurry you and your two monks should have departed without a guide. You might easily lose your way in our mountains. I am to accompany you as far as the city of Guenhek. There I shall furnish you with a safe guide for the rest of the journey; he will take you to our frontiers."
"Young man, you are, I am told, the brother of Morvan's wife. I conjure you, in the name of the safety of Brittany, to endeavor to change the insensate and fatal resolution of this man who happens to be the chief of your nation."
"Monk, the fires lighted last night on our mountains, and which, no doubt, you must have seen, were the signals of alarm, given to our tribes to prepare for war. Your King wants war—let his will be done. But, now, answer me a question. You come from the court at Aix-la-Chapelle. Could you tell me what has become of the daughters of the Emperor Charles?"
The abbot cast a look of surprise at Vortigern: "What is it to you what may have become of the Emperor's daughters?"
"It is now about eight years ago that I accompanied my grandfather to Aix-la-Chapelle. I there saw the daughters of Charles. That is the reason for my curiosity concerning them."
"The daughters of Charles have been consigned to nunneries by order of their brother, Louis the Pious,"[D] was the sententious answer of Witchaire. "May they, by dint of repentance, merit the pardon of heaven for their past and abominable libertinage."
"And Thetralde, the youngest of Charles' daughters, did she share the fate of her sisters?"
"Thetralde died long ago."
"She died!" exclaimed Vortigern, unable to conceal his emotion. "Poor child! So beautiful—and to die so young!"