"Who told you that?" said the Count, astounded.
"A little bird who was leading a guided tour at the Teleporneum."
The Count muttered something about trasque aux ravens. "And you will accompany me?"
"If my presence isn't disagreeable."
"Not in the least; a little promenade in the Mirquewoudain countryside can only do us good, and the wild game is quite spectacular. Now where is the man who brought you the letter?"
"Down in the street."
The Count went to the window that gave onto the street, and whistled. "Minno!" he called, in the voice one uses with one of the lower domestics in those unfortunate cases when a Ringwraith or Fantôme is not available to discharge the unpleasant task of addressing such canaille.
The messenger, a surly, grimy-faced and black-handed hobbite dressed in long hairy breeches of some unclean beast-fell and a tunic of dirty leather, obeyed without question.
