"Do you believe the Count to be what he appears?" inquired the Countess. "What do you think is his true character?"
"Oh, I've seen so many strange things about him, that if you want me to tell you what I think, I say that I regard him willingly as one of those characters of Byrogond, that sorrow has marked with a fatal seal, like some Turin, or some Féanoir, or some Sauron; in short, one of the débris of some ancient family that, disinherited of their paternal fortune, have found another by force of their adventurous genius or their use of enchanted jewellery which has placed them outside the laws of society."
"And how old might the Count be?"
"Thirty-five or thirty-six."
"So young! It is impossible." protested Rosédès.
"Nevertheless it is true," said Réginard. "He has told me so himself, in the most unpremeditated manner possible."
"And he has become your friend?"
