“How much for this?” I ask.

“One franc, signor,” says the proprietor, with a polite bow, holding up one finger.

I shake my head, and intimate that that is altogether too much, in fact, preposterous.

The proprietor is very indifferent, and shrugs his shoulders in an amiable manner.  He picks up a fair, handsome orange, weighs it in his hand, and holds it up temptingly.  That also is one, franc.

I suggest one sou as a fair price, a suggestion which he only receives with a smile of slight pity, and, I fancy, a little disdain.  A woman joins him, and also holds up this and that gold-skinned one for my admiration.

As I stand, sorting over the fruit, trying to please myself with size, color, and texture, a little crowd has gathered round; and I see, by a glance, that all the occupations in that neighborhood, including loafing, are temporarily suspended to witness the trade.  The interest of the circle visibly increases; and others take such a part in the transaction that I begin to doubt if the first man is, after all, the proprietor.

At length I select two oranges, and again demand the price.  There is a little consultation and jabber, when I am told that I can have both for a franc.  I, in turn, sigh, shrug my shoulders, and put down the oranges, amid a chorus of exclamations over my graspingness.  My offer of two sous is met with ridicule, but not with indifference.  I can see that it has made a sensation.  These simple, idle children of the sun begin to show a little excitement.  I at length determine upon a bold stroke, and resolve to show myself the Napoleon of oranges, or to meet my Waterloo.  I pick out four of the largest oranges in the basket, while all eyes are fixed on me intently, and, for the first time, pull out a piece of money.  It is a two-sous piece.  I offer it for the four oranges.

“No, no, no, no, signor!  Ah, signor! ah, signor!” in a chorus from the whole crowd.

I have struck bottom at last, and perhaps got somewhere near the value; and all calmness is gone.  Such protestations, such indignation, such sorrow, I have never seen before from so small a cause.  It cannot be thought of; it is mere ruin!  I am, in turn, as firm, and nearly as excited in seeming.  I hold up the fruit, and tender the money.

“No, never, never!  The signor cannot be in earnest.”

Looking round me for a moment, and assuming a theatrical manner, befitting the gestures of those about me, I fling the fruit down, and, with a sublime renunciation, stalk away.

There is instantly a buzz and a hum that rises almost to a clamor.  I have not proceeded far, when a skinny old woman runs after me, and begs me to return.  I go back, and the crowd parts to receive me.