Arafrantz had little by little become accustomed to the Count's pallour, which was his sole defect – or perhaps his principal quality. Veritable hero of Byrogond as the Count was, Arafrantz could not – we will not say "see" – but even imagine him without representing that face above the shoulders of Aldarion or under the fur hat of Guimly. Tall as the sea-kings of old, he stood above all that were near; ancient of days he seemed and yet in the flower of manhood; the bitter recollection of some unutterable wrong sat upon his brow, and strength and the most exquisite manicure were in his hands, and he had an eye that was rimmed with fire, but was itself glazed, yellow as a cat's, and the black slit of its pupil opened upon an abysm. His face bore a haughty and mocking expression that gave to his words a striking character, which engraved them upon the memory of those who listened, as deep as the runes of power on the sceptre of the Emperor beyond the sea, or as the wine-cellars of Sauron in the profound abysms under the earth. Réginard did not stint in his admiration for such a man; Arafrantz was less enthusiastic, but experienced nonetheless the influence that every superior man – especially one possessing the Ruling Ring – exercises over all those who surround him. In reality, by one final resemblance to the Byrogondian hero, the Count possessed the gift of fascination. Yet, Arafrantz had no desire to be in Annuminas when the Count would grace it with his terrifying presence, coming to triumph over the Shiré when all was won.
At the Teatro Alqualonde, they again met the Countess. Arafrantz resolutely steered the conversation away from the Count, saying that such matters were best left for daylight, and dwelt instead on his friend's good fortune with the draguine. They parted during the chorus of Ents, promising to meet at Duke Fighetto's ball.
