During this time, M. de Villefaramir arrived in a cabriolet at the door of Dr. Tolliers; he rang with such violence that the concierge came to open with an air of dread fearing that the doctor's creditors might have sent out the Loanwraiths. Villefaramir elanced himself up the stairway without uttering word, heedless of the cries of the concierge, recking nothing of calling-cards or even reading the Faque. He already pushed or rather broke like the battering-ram of Sauron the door to the doctor's cabinet. The doctor was wearing an ornamental waistcoat and smoking a pipe, and he was murmuring something about consonant shifts in Middle High Low Jick Jack Game Sindarin.
"Ah!" said the doctor. "It is you!"
"Yes, it is I," said Villefaramir, closing the door behind him, "It is I, Doctor Tolliers, and in my turn I ask if we are alone. Doctor, my house is a cursed house!"
"Vraiment?" said the doctor coldly. "And what new victim will now die chez vous and accuse us of weakness before the judgement of Érou and the Valards?"
"Valartine!" cried Villefaramir, sobbing and seizing the doctor by the arm. "It is the turn of Valartine!"
"Your daughter!" cried the physician, seized with sorrow and astonishment.
