Mireille dashed her book to the ground, sick of the sunlight that spooled through her dark hair, sick of the focus of her book of prayers, sick of the confining walls of the garden. She was lonely, and would always be; for her eyes turned upward to Roland, the highest of Charlemagne's paladins. She envied Aude, his wife, and could not hate her or wish that Roland would betray her, for she knew she would not love him if he were thus unfaithful. She envied Olivier his hidden love, for those two were inseparable friends, and though Roland's eyes never fell on Olivier as he desired, they were close. But she, she was disregarded Mireille, Mireille of Rohan, and the great Roland would pass by her, laughing with his Olivier, and never notice.
She heard the talk of a final campaign against the Moors, even in her silent garden, and resolved to go with the army, even unknown, just to be near her Roland, and see him where his blonde Aude could not. So she cut off the thick dark hair, and armed herself as a simple knight from Rohan, and rode with the army, and was again unnoticed. And she stayed in the rear of the army, and did not swing the heavy sword she carried. But she looked always at Roland, and was struck even deeper to the heart by his pride and his easy carriage, and by his laugh and the gladness in his eyes.
On the departure from Spain, Roland and his Olivier and the best knights were chosen as rear guard; and Mireille was not chosen, but stayed with the main army. But as she rode one day, at the back of the army so that she might see some glimmer of her Roland's armor, she heard the sounding of his great horn Oliphant, and was struck to the heart with fear. He would never sound that horn save in gravest danger. As in a dream she turned and rode back, and the army behind turned too, but she was at their head, and saw first the carnage, but her eyes sought only Roland. And she found him, with the corpse of Olivier beside him, and she was jealous that even in death they were together, and she saw too broken Oliphant, and beside that unbreakable Durendal. And she ran to him, and took up his sword, and the whole army of the Franks saw Mireille of Rohan drive shining Durendal into her breast.