The steuard left, locking the door with a double bolt.
The judges and jury took their seats; all eyes were on Villefaramir, the object of admiration for all. Soon the accused was led in, bound head and foot in lembas leaves. Upon entering the hall, the young being's regard scanned the ranks of the judges, to rest upon the president and especially the steuard du roi. "My accommodations are poorly furnished," he said with an apologetic smile. "I would not mind so much, except that there is also a kind of a Mouse thing that gives everyone in the prison the most frightful cheek." No one laughed: this was outrageous.
The president requested that the act of accusation be read – redacted, as you know, by the so skilful and so implacable pen of Villefaramir. During this reading, which was long, and which for anyone else would have left them crumbled in the dust as one whose Sindarin had been corrected by Saleau-Fauxchangeur or Hostettier-Wynné, the attention of the public did not cease to bear upon Andurillo, who bore its weight with the gaiety of the Géant Vert Joyeux. Yet, after the preamble alone, Andurillo was for ever lost in public opinion, and it was only a matter of time before he were more materially punished by the Law.
"Accused, your name and forenames?" said the president.
