Champollion twirled his cap uneasily. The widow fell back a pace, panting from her onslaught. Neither broke the sudden peace that had fallen on the orchard.
"Very well! You must know, then, to begin with, that this Ambialet—which you occupy with your petty broils—was once an important burg with its charters and liberties, its consul and council of prud'hommes and its own court of justice. It had its guilds, too—of midwives for instance, Maman Vacher, who were bound to obey any reasonable summons—"
"You, there, just listen to that!" put in the baker.
"And of bakers, M. Champollion, who sold bread at a price regulated by law, with a committee of five prohomes to see that they sold by just weight."
"Eh? Eh? And I warrant the law allowed no yeast from Germany!"—This from the widow.
"Beyond doubt, my daughter, it would have countenanced no such invention; for the town held its charter from the Viscounts of Beziers and Albi, and might consume only such corn and wine as were grown in the Viscounty."
"Parbleu!"—the baker shrugged his shoulders—"in the matter of wine we should fare well nowadays under such a rule!"
"In these times Ambialet grew its own wine, and by the tun. Had you but used your eyes on the way hither they might have counted old vine-stocks by the score; they lie this way and that amid the heather on either side of the calvary. Many of the inhabitants yet alive can remember the phylloxera destroying them."
"Which came, moreover, from the Rouergue!" snapped Maman Vacher.
"Be silent, my daughter. Yes! these were thriving times for Ambialet before ever the heresy infected the Albigeois, and when every year brought the Great Pilgrimage and the Retreat. For three days before the Retreat, while yet the inns were filling, the whole town made merry under a president called the King of Youth—rex juventutis—who appointed his own officers, levied his own fines, and was for three days a greater man even than the Viscount of Beziers, from whom he derived his power by charter: 'E volem e auctreiam quo lo Rei del Joven d'Ambilet puesco far sas fastas, tener ses senescals e sos jutges e sos sirvens…' h'm, h'm." Père Philibert cast about to continue the quotation, but suddenly recollected that to his hearers its old French must be as good as Greek.