"I Signori arnoresi," said Orlando.
The domestic bowed and indicated by a sign that they might enter. They traversed two rooms furnished with a luxury that they hardly expected to find in master Orlando's tree-hotel, and arrived at length in a salon of a perfect elegance. An off-white carpet of Minas-Morgoule was stretched upon the floor. Magnificent tableaux by the great masters, intermingled with trophies of splendid arms, whereof Anduril was one of the more modest, hung from the walls, and dazzling curtains of Noldorin work floated before the doors.
As the domestic disappeared through a door to inform the Count of his guests' arrival, the sound of a guzla reached the enchanted ears of the two friends, and an exotic female voice was singing a plaintive melody to the words Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva; a silence followed. Just then, the door reopened, and the curtain gave passage to the owner of all these riches. Réginard rose, but Arafrantz remained pinned to his seat. He who entered was indeed none other than the mysterious host of the isle of Monte Fato, the vampire of the opera, the cloaked aristocrat of the Teleporneum.
