A shirrife entered and advanced towards Andurillo, sabre in hand. "Re-sheath, my good man," said Andurillo. "It is hardly worth the bother of making such a nazghoulade of things, since I surrender." And he extended his hands to the handcuffs.
"Would you like me to send a message to monsieur your father, Mlle. de Sacqueville-Danglars?" was Andurillo's parting shot to Éowénie. "After all, I am in all probability heading back to Annuminas, and I was almost your husband, and I was dragged all over your boudoir yesterday evening and it would make anyone sick to hear your paternal genitor showing it off as if it were the Summer Palace of Ar-Pharazon."
Éowénie held her face in her hands. An hour later, both wearing their women's clothing, she and Mlle. d'Affadondilly mounted their calèche. One had shut their door to defend them from the first glances, but it was nonetheless necessary in leaving to pass in the midst of a double hedge of flaming eyes and murmuring lips saying things like "Ostracize them with great ostracize!" and "Tabloid them in great tabloids!"
While M. de Sacqueville-Danglars fended off journalists, pitiless in their lust for scandal that might win them the Grand Prix Silmaril de Journalisme, the baroness took the opportunity to mount her fiacre and have herself conveyed to the mansion of M. de Villefaramir, Voûte du vautour, where a pack of Uruc-haïs had lately died spectacularly.
