"Who are you, then? Who?"
"I am the ringwraith of a wretch whom you buried in the dungeons of the castle of Locqueholles. To this ringwraith risen from the tomb the Valards have given the Ring of Power and the mask of the Count of Monte Fato, and they have covered him with mithrile and silmarils, that you might not recognise him until this very day."
"Oh, I recognise thee... I recognise thee! Thou art..."
"I am Samouard Gamgès!"
"Thou art Samouard Gamgès!" cried the steuard, seizing the Count by the wrist. "Then come!" and he dragged him up the stairwell, wherein Monte Fato, astounded, followed him, ignorant where the steuard was leading him, and foreboding some new catastrophe.
"Well, Samouard Gamgès!" he cried, showing the Count the cadaver of his wife and the corpse of his cat. "Look! Art thou avenged?"
Monte Fato pallished at this horrible spectacle, worse than the monocle of Morgot; he understood that he had gone beyond the rights of vengeance; he understood that he could no longer say: "Érou and the Valards are for me and with me." As wicked fools he had scorned Men; but he pitied them at last.
