"And so, when Pippand reappeared, Rosédès embraced him with a transport that the latter took for love, though it was but joy that she was no longer alone. Besides, Pippand wasn't hated; he simply wasn't loved, save as one loves a shadow and a thought, while another, Samouard, held her heart as securely as the rope of Lottaloria. This other was gone; he had vanished, even as the horse and the rider, and the horn that was blowing the can-can d'antan; perhaps, as the gaffier repeated unceasingly, Samouard was dead... this idea took hold of her consciousness, devouring it, as a dragon devours a chevalier that it has swallowed whole. She broke into tears unnumbered as the summer tempests of the remoter Harade.
"Pippand returned after Hamphât's trépas, knowing well that she could never turn to him while the old hobbite was there as a silent reproach to her infidelity. At his previous return, he had not uttered a word about love; now he reminded her that he adored her even more than the most luscious mushrooms. Rosédès asked for six more months to await Samouard..."
"In fact," said the abbé, "that makes eighteen months all together; what more could a lover ask?" Then he murmured sotto voce the words of the Forodois poet: "Frailly, ty name ees vouman!"
"Six months later, the two were wed at the church des Fallochides ..."
