“Babbler!” exclaimed Roland, but little flattered at these marks of friendship. “What right have you to address me in this style?”
Eblis, who was not accustomed to be treated so cavalierly, was dumb with surprise for a moment.
“By my father’s horns!” said he, at last, “I must have misunderstood you. Give me your hand, Roland, to disabuse me of the error.”
He stretched out his tail to the knight, who, however, only drew back a few steps.
“What, puny wretch!” shrieked Eblis, turning as white with rage as it was possible for one so black to do. “I shall send you back to earth. Do you think I am of the same stuff as Mahomet?”
“But here Roland flung his second gauntlet in the demon’s face.
“That makes the pair!” said the nephew of Charlemagne, placing himself in an attitude of defence.
“Zacoum Zimzim Galarabak!” shouted Eblis, mad with fury. (You must know that is the most terrible oath that can be uttered in the Saracen tongue.) The earth shook and gaped at Roland’s feet. He felt himself launched into space. His armour suddenly became icy cold.
“If I get back without an attack of rheumatism I shall be lucky,” said the knight.
He heard around him the flapping of wings; it was a troop of afreets and djins.