"To Barroue-Don!" cried Roguccio. "Me, go to Barroue-Don!" He bore the expression of a hobbite in a boat, or a petit-dwarf in an equestrian contest.
"Eh, bien, what is so astonishing about going to Barroue-Don?"
Roguccio lowered his head before the imperious regard of his master, and remained immobile and without response.
"Will I have to send for my carriage a second time?" said Monte Fato, knowing full well that Roguccio had not forgotten the fate of the previous intendant, who had made the Count wait one minute for his nazghouleh, and had been sentenced to the Black Pits, shrivelling before the Count's Lidless Eye.
Roguccio bounded from the petit salon to the antechamber, and called out in a hoarse voice, "His Excellency's Eagles!"
Monte Fato wrote some letters while waiting for the intendant to reappear.
"Your carriage is ready," said the latter.
"Eh, bien, get your gloves, your wings, and your hat," said the Count.
