"OH!" cried the general, whom each of these words struck like a hot iron. "Oh wretch! Thou reproachest my shame at the very moment when perhaps thou wilt slay me! Thou hast penetrated the night of my past, demon, and hast read there by the light of I know not what flame every page of my life! But perhaps there is more honor in me in the midst of my opprobrium than in thee with thy pompous exterior. I am known to thee, but thee I do not know, adventurer besown with gold and gems, vainglorious ringlord, wise fool, Monte Fato the Base Master of Treachery and Tasteless Ostentation! In Annuminas, you call yourself the Count of Monte Fato; in the South, Éarendeau le marin; among the Dwarves, Fornwangler-Schucks-Zirackziegel-von-und-zu-Nogrodt-Belgondt; in Morie, what do I know? I've forgotten. But it's thy real name that I demand, it's your true name I want to know, in the midst of thy hundred names, more than Arroroute boasted in the days of his prolixity, so that I may pronounce it on the field of combat when I plunge my épée into thy heart!"
The Count of Monte Fato became horribly pale; his fauve Eye flared up with a devouring fire; he lifted his Ring, and behold! In an instant he was transformed, and appeared before his astonied foe in the guise of a sailor clad in the style Gondor. The general recoiled until he found a table whereon to rest his nervous hand.
