helped his mother in the business, and spent his days picking over fruit
and vegetables, seated on a chair outside the door.

He had an abnormal dread of a petticoat and cast down his eyes whenever a
female customer looked at him smilingly, and this well-known timidity
made him the butt of all the wags in the country.

Bold words, coarse expressions, indecent allusions, brought the color to
his cheeks so quickly that Dr. Barbesol had nicknamed him "the
thermometer of modesty." Was he as innocent as he looked? ill-natured
people asked themselves. Was it the mere presentiment of unknown and
shameful mysteries or else indignation at the relations ordained as the
concomitant of love that so strongly affected the son of Virginie the
greengrocer? The urchins of the neighborhood as they ran past the shop
would fling disgusting remarks at him just to see him cast down his eyes.
The girls amused themselves by walking up and down before him, cracking
jokes that made him go into the store. The boldest among them teased him
to his face just to have a laugh, to amuse themselves, made appointments
with him and proposed all sorts of things.

So Madame Husson had become thoughtful.

Certainly, Isidore was an exceptional case of notorious, unassailable
virtue. No one, among the most sceptical, most incredulous, would have
been able, would have dared, to suspect Isidore of the slightest
infraction of any law of morality. He had never been seen in a cafe,
never been seen at night on the street. He went to bed at eight o'clock
and rose at four. He was a perfection, a pearl.

But Mme. Husson still hesitated. The idea of substituting a boy for a