CHAPTER IX. A TRIP TO MAHOMET’S PARADISE.
WHILE Roland was descending into the fosse of Saragossa, Mahomet was taking his afternoon nap in his Paradise. A houri had rolled a cloud under his head, and he was snoring serenely near the fountain.
The first blow of Durandal’s pommel awoke the Prophet.
“Come in,” said he, turning round, in no pleasant humour at being disturbed. The second stroke put him out still more; and he rang for the angel Namous, and inquired of him who dared to make such an uproar.
“Great Prophet,” said the heavenly messenger, “it’s that Roland at his tricks again. He has undertaken to fling down the walls of Saragossa; and I really can’t help trembling for the fate of your followers!”
“I must see to this,” said Mahomet; “I feel certain you are exaggerating as usual, and that my brave Marsillus will not let himself be beaten by a Christian.”
The Prophet stepped down into his observatory, and turned his telescope on Saragossa.