“Then the Mayor placed in one of his hands the silk purse in which the gold chinked, five hundred francs in gold! … and in the other a little savings-book. And in a solemn voice he pronounced:
“ ‘Honour, glory and riches to virtue.’
“Commandant Desbarres cried out:
“ ‘Bravo.’
“The grenadiers cheered; the people applauded.
“Madame Husson too dried her eyes.
“Then they sat down at their places around the table where the banquet was spread.
“It was never-ending and sumptuous: yellow cider and red wine fraternised in glasses, side by side, and mingled in the stomach. The rattle of plates, voices and music playing in muffled tones made a deep, ceaseless murmur, dying away in the clear sky where the swallows flew. Every now and then Madame Husson adjusted her wig of black silk, awry over one ear, and talked with the Abbé Malou. The Mayor, in high spirits, talked politics with Commandant Desbarres, and Isidore ate, Isidore drank, as he had never before eaten and drunk! He helped himself again and again to everything, finding out for the first time that it is sweet to feel one’s belly full of good things that please the palate before they please the stomach. He had adroitly loosened the buckle of his trousers, which tightened with the increasing pressure of his abdomen, and in silence, a little disturbed, however, by a stain of wine fallen on his cotton vest, he ceased to chew in order to lift the glass to his mouth and keep it there as long as possible, while he took slow sips of wine.
“The time for toasts came round. They were many and much applauded. The evening came: they had been at table since midday. Now there floated in the valley a thin, milky mist, the light vesture of night upon the streams and meadows: the sun dipped below the horizon: the cows lowed afar off in the mists of the pasture land. It was over: they returned towards Gisors. The procession, broken up now, marched helter-skelter. Madame Husson had taken Isidore’s arm and was giving him much counsel, urgent and sound.
“They stopped before the greengrocer’s door and the May King was left with his mother.
“She had not come home. Invited by her family to take part in the celebration of her son’s triumph, she had lunched with her sister, after having followed the procession to the banqueting tent.
“So Isidore remained alone in the shop, into which darkness was penetrating.
“He sat down in a chair, flushed with wine and pride, and looked around him. The carrots, cabbages and onions filled the closed room with their strong vegetable smell, a rude, earthy odour, with which was mingled the sweet, penetrating smell of strawberries and the delicate, evasive perfume of a basket of peaches.
“The May King took one and ate it with big bites, though his belly was round as a pumpkin. Then suddenly, delirious with joy, he began to dance; and something rattled in his gown.
“He was surprised, and plunged his hands into his pockets and drew out the purse with the five hundred francs, which he had forgotten in his drunken joy. Five hundred francs! What a fortune! He poured out the luis on the counter and spread them out with a slow, caressing movement of his great open palm in order to see them all at once. There were twenty-five, twenty-five round coins, in gold! all in gold. They shone on the wood in the deep gloom, and he counted them over and over again, placing his finger on each one and murmuring:
“ ‘One, two, three, four, five—a hundred; six, seven eight, nine, ten—two hundred.’
“Then he put them back in the purse, which he replaced in his pocket.
“Who could know and who could describe the terrible conflict waged in the May King’s soul between good and evil, the tumultuous onset of Satan, the subtle tricks, the temptations that he hurled against this timid, virgin heart? What suggestions, what imaginings, what covetous desires did the Evil One invent to provoke and destroy this chosen soul? Madame Husson’s elect seized his hat, the hat that still bore the little bunch of orange blossom, and, going out by the little lane at the back of the house, disappeared into the night. …
“Virginie, the greengrocer, warned that her son had returned, came back almost at once and found the house empty. She waited, without any qualms at first: then, at the end of a quarter of an hour, she made enquiries. Her neighbours in the Rue Dauphine had seen Isidore come in but had not seen him go out again. Then they went to look for him, but they did not find a trace of him. The greengrocer, dismayed, ran to the Town Hall: the Mayor knew nothing, except that he had left the May King at the door of his home. Madame Husson had just gone to bed when she was informed that her protégé had disappeared. She put on her wig again, got up and went herself to the greengrocer’s. Virginie, whose simple soul was easily moved, was weeping copiously in the middle of her cabbages, carrots and onions.
“An accident was feared. But what? Commandant Desbarres informed the police, who made a round of the town; and on the way to Pontoise they found the little bunch of orange blossom. It was laid on a table around which the authorities held counsel. The May King must have been the victim of some ruse, some trick of jealousy: but how? What means had been employed to carry off this innocent, and to what end?
“Weary of the vain search, the authorities retired to bed. Virginie, all alone, lay awake in tears.
“Now, the following evening, when the coach from Paris passed through on its way back, the town of Gisors heard with amazement that its May King had stopped the vehicle two hundred yards out of the town, had got in, and paid for his seat with a louis for which he had received the change,
