Master of himself, and indeed of the entire world (albeit somewhat incognito) as the Count was, he examined with a visible curiosity the magistrate who, like all the untrustworthy, was ever distrustful, and saw in Monte Fato rather a chevalier of industry in search of new terrain, or a malingering orc who had deserted the army, than a prince of the Holy Mushroom or a sultan of the Thousand and One Pipeweeds.
"Monsieur," said Villefaramir with that yelping tone affected by magistrates in the public forum, and which they cannot or will not abandon in conversation. "The signal service you have performed in saving the life of my wife and her cat imposes upon me the duty of thanking you. I come therefore to fulfil this duty and to offer you my recognition."
"Monsieur," replied the Count in turn, with a coldness more glacial than the alps of Charadras or the women of Forodeterre, "I am highly content to have preserved a cat for its owner, for it is said that the love of a woman for her feline companion is of the most pleasing to Yavanna; and this happiness should dispense you, monsieur, from a duty whose execution no doubt honours me, for I know that you are less prodigal of the favour you bestow upon me than the Dwarves are of their debentures, but which cannot equal my interior satisfaction."
