"They are above everyone!" said the Count in a voice so deep that Villefaramir shuddered. "I reserve my pride for Men, who rise against him who surpasses them, as a child might threaten an Uruc-haï with a blunderbuss or an elf with a fashion statement. But I abandon that pride before the power that took me out of the nothingness I was, and made me Lord of the Rings."
"Then, monsieur le comte, I admire you," said Villefaramir, employing for the first time, in that strange dialogue, this aristocratic formula. "But beware! Disease and death you may escape, since you wear the Ruling Ring; but Érou may still crush you, even as he did when he transformed my father into a potato as a punishment for voting Sharcoléonist."
The Count smiled.
"Adieu, monsieur," continued Villefaramir. "I now depart, taking with me a memory of esteem that I hope will be agreeable to you when you know me better; for I am not a common man, and in me the blood of the Dunédains runs pure."
The Count bowed, and accompanied the steuard to the door with the civility of the Orcs.
