The two bowed. Arafrantz had still not uttered a word, uncertain as he was whether to make allusion to the hashberry of the past, or let time show him more proofs – nothing in the Count indicating any desire to be recognized. Nevertheless, Arafrantz decided to lead the conversation where it could resolve certain doubts. "Monsieur le comte," said he. "You have already procured for us eagles and windows in the Palazzo Tralalalli; could you also obtain for us a seat on the Piazza de' Calaquendi?"
"Ah, oui, c'est vrai," said the Count with a distracted air, and looking intently at Pérégrin with large red expressionless eyes. "Isn't something like an execution supposed to take place there?"
"Yes," said Arafrantz, seeing that the discussion, like Gandault in the mines of Morie, was going exactly where it should.
"Wait," said the Count. "I believe I asked one of my Orcs or Trolls or Balrogues to take care of this little matter yesterday." He pulled three times on a chord that had been hand-made by Galadriella herself. "Have you ever meditated upon the proper way of subjecting your domestics utterly to your will?" he inquired of Arafrantz. "Moi, I have made a study of it, and find that on the whole directly implanting your will into your servants' minds is the most effective way of keeping them on their toes – besides the fact that one need never doubt whether the wrong domestic will answer your call by mistake. Voilà notre Balrogue." And on cue the Count's intendant, a dark shadowy shape with a hidden fire, entered the room and bowed.
