"Monsieur," said Réginard to the Count in a trembling voice that became surer as he proceeded, "I reproached you for having divulged the conduct of M. de Pérégrin in Quirithe-Oungallant, for, however guilty M. the Count de Pérégrin was, I did not believe that you had the right to punish him. But today, monsieur, I know that you have acquired that right. It is not the treachery of Pippand de Touc towards Ala-Pallando that renders me so ready to excuse you, but the treachery of the fisher Pippand towards you, and the unheard of misfortunes that followed upon that treason. Unnumbered tears indeed thou hast shed, and not deserved, as were those of Féanoir after he had insulted Yavanne's taste in clothing because she liked to go clad in birch-bark. Thus I say, indeed, I proclaim it from the mountain tops as did Éonve on admiring Éarendeau's shoe polish: you were right to take vengeance on my father, and I thank you for having done no more!"
The thunder, fallen in the midmost of the spectators of this unexpected scene like the bolt hurled by the Valards in the middle of Morgot's most sumptuous ball, would not have astonished them more than this declaration of Réginard. As for Monte Fato, his Eye was raised to the utmost west in an expression of infinite gratitude, and he could not enough admire how the fiery, indeed almost balrogic nature of Réginard, whose courage he had witnessed in a nest of orcs, had so suddenly bent itself to this humiliation. He also recognised the influence of Rosédès, and saw how much greater was her noble heart than the power of any rings.
