Gan went away rejoicing to France.  He embraced the court and his sovereign all round, with the air of a man who had brought them nothing but blessings; and the old king wept for very tenderness and delight.

“Something is going on wrong, and looks very black,” thought Malagigi, the good wizard; “and Rinaldo is not here, and it is indispensably necessary that he should be.  I must find out where he is, and Ricciardetto too, and send for them with all speed, and at any price.”  Malagigi called up, by his art, a wise, terrible, and cruel spirit, named Ashtaroth;—­no light personage to deal with—­no little spirit, such as plays tricks with you like a fairy.  A much blacker visitant was this.

“Tell me, and tell me truly of Rinaldo,” said Malagigi to the spirit.

Hard looked the demon at the Paladin, and said nothing.  His aspect was clouded and violent.  He wished to see whether his summoner retained all the force of his art.

The enchanter, with an aspect still cloudier, bade Ashtaroth lay down that look.  While giving this order, he also made signs indicative of a disposition to resort to angrier compulsion; and the devil, apprehending that he would confine him in some hateful place, loosened his tongue, and said, “You have not told me what you desire to know of Rinaldo.”

“I desire to know what he has been doing, and where he is,” returned the enchanter.

“He has been conquering and baptising the world, east and west,” said the demon, “and is now in Egypt with Ricciardetto.”

“And what has Gan been plotting with Marsilius,” inquired Malagigi, “and what is to come of it?”

“On neither of those points can I enlighten you,” said the devil.  “I was not attending to Gan at the time, and we fallen spirits know not the future.  Had we done so, we had not been so willing to incur the danger of falling.  All I discern is, that, by the signs and comets in the heavens, something dreadful is about to happen—­something very strange, treacherous, and bloody; and that Gan has a seat ready prepared for him in hell.”

“Within three days,” cried the enchanter, loudly, “fetch Rinaldo and Ricciardetto into the pass of Roncesvalles.  Do it, and I hereby undertake never to summon thee more.”

“Suppose they will not trust themselves with me,” said the spirit.

“Enter Rinaldo’s horse, and bring him, whether he trust thee or not.”

“It shall be done,” returned the demon; “and my serving-devil Foul-Mouth, or Fire-Red, shall enter the horse of Ricciardetto.  Doubt it not.  Am I not wise, and thyself powerful?”

There was an earthquake, and Ashtaroth disappeared.