"You are young and full of foolish romantic notions, ma fille," replied the Marquise, shaking her had with maternal indulgence. "You really must read less Gandault and more Féanoir."
"Madame," replied M. de Villefaramir, "Your daughter is not wholly wrong, nor wholly right. Tempering the severity of justice with the mildness of pity is a delicate art, not unlike that of sculpting stone Trolls or writing lists of frequently asked questions. We must be as just as our little wisdom allows..."
He was interrupted at this point by a messenger, who handed him a letter, which he quickly scanned. "My apologies," he said. "Pressing business, which bids fair to make work for the bourreau, calls me away from this charming tête-à-tête. I must, alas, examine a prisoner."
"Oh, my spouse!" cried Finduilette. "Be merciful, I beg you, on this day of our trothplighting!"
"Non! Do not be too gentle!" admonished Mme d'Imrahil. "The Sharcoléonists are responsible for bringing in the ruffians and for all the evil they have done."
"I will be a model of judicial rigor, Madame," he replied, but his smile told his bride that he would be anything but.
