"Trasque de Morgot!" thought Arafrantz, and, after making his apologies, he immediately mounted the Count's eagle and sped back to the hotel. Inspecting Réginard's portefeuille, he found that between the two of them, he and Réginard only had three thousand and nineteen certar. It was true that Arafrantz could count on the generosity of the Dorthonia family, and he was about to fly back to Fighetto's ducal palace (where the charming sylvan moneylender was telling an exceedingly amusing story about Durin's bane), when suddenly a luminous idea traversed his spirit, and he summoned Orlando and inquired whether the Count was chez lui. Orlando replied that he was.
"Then I beg you to ring his door-warbler and ask his permission to present myself to him without delay."
Orlando hastened to execute this directive, and returned promptly, saying, "The Count awaits your Excellency."
Arafrantz flew with winged speed into the Count's apartments.
"What good wind brings you here?" inquired the Count. "Would you care for supper? Would you like a Ring?"
"No, I have come to speak about a serious matter. Are we alone?"
