"Hélas!" added the stranger, sans doute in order to dissipate the almost imperceptible shadow, no larger than a hobbite's brain, that had passed over Pérégrin's brow. "In Mordor, or what is left of it, we do not thus, but grow according to our race and species, the Orcs in their pods and the balrogues in their warrens, and we keep the same foliage (though we be not Ents), the same height, and the same uselessness throughout our lives."
"Ah, but monsieur," said the Count de Pérégrin, "for a man of your merit, Mordor is not a fatherland, and Arnor, which was ungrateful to its own, will perhaps show more favor to a foreigner of talent, as she did in the times of Lothon and Sharcoléon, when ruffians of infinitely less value than yourself came over the Mountains of Cologne and allotted themselves all the most signal honours in the realm 'for fair distribution.'"
"Oh, monsieur, I have no interest in worldly rank," said Monte Fato. "Indeed, Saroumand once offered me the staffs of the Five Wizards, but I could not be bothered with such an appalling white elephant. Although, as it would have been rude to say so, I merely informed him that the honour was far too great, etc., etc." The Count accompanied this remark with a mysterious smile, as enigmatic as the thoughts of Billot the palfrey on the wings of balrogues.
