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He saw that some of the trees were carved with inscriptions--he drew
near, and read them, and what was his surprise to find that they
composed the name of Angelica! Farther on he found the name of Medoro
mixed with hers. The paladin thought he dreamed. He stood like one
amazed--like a bird that, rising to fly, finds its feet caught in a net.

Orlando followed the course of the stream, and came to one of its turns
where the rocks of the mountain bent in such a way as to form a sort of
grotto. The twisted stems of ivy and the wild vine draped the entrance
of this recess, scooped by the hand of nature.

The unhappy paladin, on entering the grotto, saw letters which appeared
to have been lately carved. They were verses which Medoro had written
in honor of his happy nuptials with the beautiful queen. Orlando tried
to persuade himself it must be some other Angelica whom those versesdays spent in the search, gave up the attempt.

It was about the middle of the third day when the paladin arrived on
the pleasant bank of a stream which wound through a meadow enamelled
with flowers. High trees, whose tops met and formed an arbor,
over-shadowed the fountain; and the breeze which blew through their
foliage tempered the heat. Hither the shepherds used to resort to
quench their thirst, and to enjoy the shelter from the midday sun. The
air, perfumed with the flowers, seemed to breathe fresh strength into
their veins. Orlando felt the influence, though covered with his armor.
He stopped in this delicious arbor, where everything seemed to invite
to repose. But he could not have chosen a more fatal asylum. He there
spent the most miserable moments of his life.

He looked around, and noted with pleasure all the charms of the spot.memorial. It was the one which Orlando had himself given her.

This last touch was the finishing stroke to the excited paladin.
Frantic, exasperated, he exclaimed against the ungrateful and cruel
princess who had disdained him, the most renowned, the most indomitable
of all the paladins of France,--him, who had rescued her from the most
alarming perils,--him, who had fought the most terrible battles for her
sake,--she to prefer to him a young Saracen! The pride of the noble
Count was deeply wounded. Indignant, frantic, a victim to ungovernable
rage, he rushed into the forest, uttering the most frightful shrieks.

"No, no!" cried he, "I am not the man they take me for! Orlando is
dead! I am only the wandering ghost of that unhappy Count, who is now
suffering the torments of hell!"
celebrated, and as for Medoro, he had never heard his name. The sun was
now declining, and Orlando remounted his horse, and went on his way. He
soon saw the roof of a cottage whence the smoke ascended; he heard the
barking of dogs and the lowing of cattle, and arrived at a humble
dwelling which seemed to offer an asylum for the night. The inmates, as
soon as they saw him, hastened to tender him service. One took his
horse, another his shield and cuirass, another his golden spurs. This
cottage was the very same where Medoro had been carried, deeply
wounded,--where Angelica had tended him, and afterwards married him.
The shepherd who lived in it loved to tell everybody the story of this
marriage, and soon related it, with all its details, to the miserable
Orlando.

Having finished it, he went away, and returned with the precious
bracelet which Angelica, grateful for his services, had given him as apeasant with a bridle in his hand, who was in search of his farm horse
that had strayed away.

Orlando, having speedily repaired his horse's girths, remounted, and
waited a good hour for the Saracen to return. Not seeing him, he
concluded to go in search of him. He took an affectionate leave of
Zerbino and Isabella, who would willingly have followed him; but this
the brave paladin would by no means permit. He held it unknightly to go
in search of an enemy accompanied by a friend, who might act as a
defender. Therefore, desiring them to say to Mandricardo, if they
should meet him, that his purpose was to tarry in the neighborhood
three days, and then repair to the camp of Charlemagne, he took down
Durindana from the tree, and proceeded in the direction which the
Saracen's horse had taken. But the animal, having no guide but its
terror, had so doubled and confused its traces that Orlando, after two