"Monsieur, I do not understand you, and even if I did, you would be making far too much noise. I am here chez moi, and I alone have the right to raise my voice. Leave, monsieur de Pérégrin!" And he showed Réginard the door with an admirable gesture of command.
At the name of Pérégrin, a murmur of astonishment passed like a shudder among the auditors of this scene. Better than any, and the first of all, Réginard understood the allusion, and would have thrown his glove at the Count, had not his friends restrained him. "To the cowardice of youth, have you added the weakness of age?" he taunted. "I shall hurt you with nasty cruel steel, thou gobbleur!"
"Monsieur," said Monte Fato in a terrible voice, "I will take your glove for having been thrown, and will return it to you as a token that doom is at hand. Now leave, for your mission is at an end and death awaits you; or I shall call the Nazghoules with my Ring and command them to hang you on a gibbet for the nourishment of their pterodactyls."
Drunk, alarmed, with bloodshot eyes, Réginard took a step backwards. Morrie took advantage thereof and shut the door.
"What will you to do to him?" he asked the Count.
"Réginard?" said Monte Fato with a tone of imperturbable tranquillity. "I will kill him tomorrow before the fashionable monde can utter the words 'comme il faut.'"
