Branche-d'Or came up to him and put his hat in his hand.
"I do not surrender!" shouted Roland.
"Useless to do so, Monsieur de Montrevel," replied Branche-d'Or with the utmost politeness.
"What do you mean ?" demanded Roland, exhausting his strength in a struggle as desperate as it was useless.
"Because you are captured, sir." It was so true that there could be no answer.
"Then kill me!" cried Roland.
"We don't want to kill you, sir," replied Branche-d'Or.
"Then what do you want ?" "Give us your parole not to fight any more, and you are free." "Never!" exclaimed Roland.
"Excuse me, Monsieur de Montrevel," said Branche-d'Or, "but that is not loyal!" "What!" shrieked Roland, in a fury, "not loyal! You insult me, villain, because you know I can't defend myself or punish you." "I am not a villain, and I didn't insult you, Monsieur de Montrevel; but I do say that by not giving your word, you deprive the general of nine men, who might be useful to him and who are obliged to stay here to guard you.

That's not the way the Big Round Head acted toward you.

He had two hundred men more than you, and he sent them away.

Now we are only eighty-nine against one hundred." A flame crossed Roland's face; then almost as suddenly he turned pale as death.
"You are right, Branche-d'Or," he replied.

"Succor or no succor, I surrender.