"Ah, it's just," said Éowénie, laughing. "I forgot that I am Oromé, whilst you are only the pale Tar-Vanimelde-Germaine-Rolingue."†
Then, with a promptitude suggesting that this was not sans doute the first time she had adopted the garb of the opposite sex, Éowénie donned her ankle-boots, put on pantaloons, creased her cravate, buttoned her gilet up to her neck, and completed her toilet with a redingote that defined her elegant and arched figure.
"Oh, you are beautiful, always beautiful!" cried Célesbienne d'Affadondilly. "Now, where shall we go?"
"But to Rivendeau, if you wish; it's the nearest frontier. We'll gain Rivendeau, Érébeur, Dol-Gouldour; and we'll take boats down the Nimrodelle until we reach Lottaloria. Does this plan suit you?"
"But yes."
† Oromé was the slave of Tar-Vanimelde-Germaine-Rolingue, queen of the Blas. Dunadas exploits here judiciously the inversion of the legend; indeed, Tar-Vanimelde-Germaine-Rolingue was clad in a lion-skin and carried a mace, while Oromé, at her feet, was dressed as a woman. Vaguely disgusting, like all the tales of the Elder Days.
