“A man or a bird man?”
“A man!” replied Rondah.
This was his danger; Regan knew now. There was everything to fear from another man—insurrection of the elf men, helplessness of sleep, horror of war, confusion of conflicting power. An enemy! Powerful, else he would never be able to endure the star! Wily, else he had never been able to reach the star! He could see those hideous troops of traitorous elf men, roused to any pitch of enthusiasm by a few human words, ranging in red lines over the cold snow like streaks of human blood! Oh! all misfortune he foresaw in that moment’s realization, but he foresaw nothing like the true one!
No death, no death, no death on the star! If his enemy were there, he was there forever!
“Possibly it was Father Renaudin. I will see him.”
Regan’s voice sounded strangely.
“What can he do, Regan?—the man!”
“I cannot tell.”
They found Father Renaudin, meditating in the blue, silver and crimson radiance of his own great rooms. He was in possession of a large wing, where the rooms had been given up entirely to his use.
When he looked up and saw them, he smiled with the pleasure of an indulgent and idolizing parent, who contemplates a couple of beautiful children.