During the dinner, Arafrantz glanced at Réginard to see what effect the Count's rather sanguinary views had had on him – which apparently was none whatsoever, whether on account of Réginard's habitual insouciance or because the food was unusually good – especially to one who has had the misfortune of subsisting for several days on lembasagna, without any doubt one of the worst eatables in Terre-moyenne. The entrée consisted of the most charmingly dubious mushrooms Arafrantz had ever seen; and the conversation deteriorated somewhat after the Count had turned into an enormous Portobello mushroom.
After recovering from this repast, Arafrantz took out his watch. "You will excuse us, monsieur le comte, but we have a thousand things to do. We must buy ourselves some of the golden masks of Lorienna."
"Do not concern yourself with that," replied the Count. "I will provide costumes at our private box at the Piazza de' Calaquendi."
"Before the scaffold?" cried Arafrantz.
"The scaffold forms part of the feast. Not uncommonly, scantily clad elf-maidens perform the most exquisite pirouettes during the prisoner's dying gasps."
"Monsieur le comte, I thank you very much for your graciousness, but I will accept the eagle and the windows, and dispense with my seat at Piazza de' Calaquendi."
