These railleries were brusquely interrupted by the appearance of a great shadow, in the middle of which was a dark form, of human shape maybe, yet greater; and a power and social éclat seemed to be in it and to go before it. It came to the edge of the fireplace, and the flames roared up to greet it and to light its brand-chibouque of chalcedony; and a black smoke, faintly narcotic, swirled in the air. Its streaming mane kindled, and blazed behind it. In its right hand was the aforementioned brand-chibouque; in its left hand, an exquisite mithril walking-stick like a stabbing tongue of fire. It nonchalantly lifted the walking-stick, and there was a roll of thunder; the whole hall, with the exception of the new arrival, became as dark as night. When the valet announced, "His Excellency, the Count of Monte Fato," the effect was distinctly anticlimactic.
"Really, monsieur le comte," said Réginard. "These are hardly the manners considered usual in a salon."
"Pardon, it was an inadvertence," said the Count, resuming his normal form, simply yet exquisitely clad in classic black, with a cravat that seemed to extend from wall to wall. "I not infrequently forget how awesome my powers seem to those not so fortunate to be an homme superieur. Moreover, I am foreigner, to the point that it is the first time I come to Annuminas. So I ask that these messieurs pardon any breaches of etiquette that I may accidentally commit, or if they find something in me too Haradric or Lottalorian or Orkish."
