Ganelon had never been so delighted. He hated Oliver, whose friendship for Roland was proverbial. “This evening,” said he to himself, “these boasters will sleep between four planks.”
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Wolf was as pleased and malicious as Ganelon.
The Duke of Aquitaine, you must know, had been struck with Aude’s beauty, and had demanded her hand; but Gerard de Vienne had rejected the offer with scorn, and Oliver had said, with a laugh, “Go and ask Roland for it.”
Wolf and Ganelon were made to understand each other: they did not fail to joke together in a whisper while Oliver was doing battle.
Now Charlemagne was never particularly pleased to see people jesting on such occasions, and he was not slow to perceive their smothered laughter, and grew very angry at it. This sarcastic sniggering enraged him. The words of Angoulaffre still grated in his ears, and he fancied that he was the subject of pleasantry for his vassals. Turning round, delighted at a chance of relieving his anger, he said to Ganelon and Wolf—
“The wolf and the crow, Heaven help us! dare to laugh at the eagle! Has he sunk so low that he must submit to this?”