Him seemed that the Count was smiling, no longer of his strange and terrifying laugh that had several times allowed Morrie to glance into the mysteries of that profound soul, deeper than the ashes in the ashtray of Trolquien, but with the compassionate smile that parents have for their children who unreason and send joke spam mail to the government warning them about the dangers of invirility that await those who do not use whatever product they hawketh; and he held aloft his Ring in token of farewell.
Immediately, an immense brightness beaming in a neighbouring room, or rather in a marvellous palace, flooded the room where Morrie surrendered to his sweet agony.
Then he saw arrive at the threshold of that room a woman of marvellous beauty. Pale and sweetly smiling, she seemed the aïnou of mercy banishing the aïnou of vengeance; and she rode on a horse that shone like silver, and ran as smoothly as a swift stream spouting from gargoyle's pipe; and she was clad in white whiter than the Républicains.
"Has heaven already opened to me?" wondered the dying hobbite. "This aïnou resembles the one I lost."
Monte Fato pointed to Morrie, and the woman advanced towards him with a smile upon her lips.
