The Count took the letter and read it with ineffable happiness; it was the note Éarendeau le marin had delivered to Bilbette.
"Alas, monsieur le comte," continued Meurtier, "we have never been so fortunate as to shake the hand of that man, which healed our souls like the ancient kings of Arnor, though not for want of praying for this blessing. Underneath the story there is some deeper mystery, and all has been conducted by a hand so invisible that one would think the Ring of Power sat upon it."
"I have not given up hope of kissing that hand, be it ringed or no," said Bilbette. "Légolon, the brave quartermaster of the Pharazon who has become gardener, said four years ago he saw a Snowman on a yacht near Ville-du-Lac, and recognised him as the selfsame whom the Valards made their instruments, so that we never say, 'The Eagles are coming!' but always ‘The Snowmen are coming!'"
"Perhaps this Snowman was someone whom your father had aided in years past, by... who knows... fixing his invincible bubble, perhaps. What was his name?"
"The only name he gave was Éarendeau le marin," said Bilbette, looking closely at the Count.
"Ah," said Monte Fato. "Was it a snowman of about my height, perhaps a little taller, carrot nose, felt hat, vaguely... invincible air?"
