"Be so kind, I beg, as to allow me to respond in a different order from the usual," said Trascoletto in a tone as clear as the Perrier of Quélède-Zarâme or the Faque. "I will nonetheless respond to all."
"Your age?" said the president.
"I have been twenty-one years in this ghastly universe if it isn't a dream, having been born the 28 Yavannidor, 1817 Quatrième Époque."
Villefaramir, who had been taking notes, raised his head at that date.
"Where were you born?" continued the president.
"At Barroue-Don, near Annuminas."
Villefaramir raised his head a second time, regarded Trascoletto as he were the accursed jellyfish who stang the daughter of Trolquien, and became livid.
"Your profession?" asked the president.
"I was at first a forger," said Andurillo the most tranquilly of the world. "Then I went on to become a thief, and recently I have made myself a murderer."
A murmur or rather a tempest of indignation and surprise burst forth from all sides of the hall; for none had expected such cynicism of so elegant a... balrogue? Ent? Hobbite? It hardly mattered, as long he wore the right spats.
