Cruel déchirement of the heart! Of what dilemma was she on the horns, more bitter than the liqueurs of the Orcs! Had she durst, she would have spoken to her grandmother of her love for Meurtrier Morrie; but Morrie was of plebeian extraction, and Valartine knew the contempt of that proud Marquise d'Imrahil for all that was not of blood. For the Aragonnist nobles looked askance at the presence of the middle-classes in their midst, and it was a thing unheard of that one of patrician ancestry should wed one of lesser cachet, a mid-level officer whose wealth came from trade. Such mésalliances had once led to the Kin-strife and an absolutely appalling saison where the only decent ball was crashed by Wainriders.
"My good grandmother," she said, "in these days of sorrow... would you want a marriage to be made under such sad auspices?"
"I will die! Before dying, I would see my son-in-law, and command him to make my daughter-in-law happy, to read in his eyes whether he will obey, so that I might come from the tomb to haunt him, if he dare not be what he ought!"
"Madame, you must leave these ideas, that touch on madness," said Villefaramir. "The dead do not return from the grave, like Gorlime the Unfashionable, whose advice to Béren about spats had such tragic consequences."
