“Homage, glory and riches to virtue.”

Commandant Desbarres shouted “Bravo!” the grenadiers vociferated, and the crowd applauded.

Mme. Husson wiped her eyes, in her turn.  Then they all sat down at the table where the banquet was served.

The repast was magnificent and seemed interminable.  One course followed another; yellow cider and red wine in fraternal contact blended in the stomach of the guests.  The rattle of plates, the sound of voices, and of music softly played, made an incessant deep hum, and was dispersed abroad in the clear sky where the swallows were flying.  Mme. Husson occasionally readjusted her black wig, which would slip over on one side, and chatted with Abbe Malon.  The mayor, who was excited, talked politics with Commandant Desbarres, and Isidore ate, drank, as if he had never eaten or drunk before.  He helped himself repeatedly to all the dishes, becoming aware for the first time of the pleasure of having one’s belly full of good things which tickle the palate in the first place.  He had let out a reef in his belt and, without speaking, and although he was a little uneasy at a wine stain on his white waistcoat, he ceased eating in order to take up his glass and hold it to his mouth as long as possible, to enjoy the taste slowly.

It was time for the toasts.  They were many and loudly applauded.  Evening was approaching and they had been at the table since noon.  Fine, milky vapors were already floating in the air in the valley, the light night-robe of streams and meadows; the sun neared the horizon; the cows were lowing in the distance amid the mists of the pasture.  The feast was over.  They returned to Gisors.  The procession, now disbanded, walked in detachments.  Mme. Husson had taken Isidore’s arm and was giving him a quantity of urgent, excellent advice.

They stopped at the door of the fruit store, and the “Rosier” was left at his mother’s house.  She had not come home yet.  Having been invited by her family to celebrate her son’s triumph, she had taken luncheon with her sister after having followed the procession as far as the banqueting tent.

So Isidore remained alone in the store, which was growing dark.  He sat down on a chair, excited by the wine and by pride, and looked about him.  Carrots, cabbages, and onions gave out their strong odor of vegetables in the closed room, that coarse smell of the garden blended with the sweet, penetrating odor of strawberries and the delicate, slight, evanescent fragrance of a basket of peaches.

The “Rosier” took one of these and ate it, although he was as full as an egg.  Then, all at once, wild with joy, he began to dance about the store, and something rattled in his waistcoat.

He was surprised, and put his hand in his pocket and brought out the purse containing the five hundred francs, which he had forgotten in his agitation.  Five hundred francs!  What a fortune!  He poured the gold pieces out on the counter and spread them out with his big hand with a slow, caressing touch so as to see them all at the same time.  There were twenty-five, twenty-five round gold pieces, all gold!  They glistened on the wood in the dim light and he counted them over and over, one by one.  Then he put them back in the purse, which he replaced in his pocket.