"The fish?" repeated Jean—and then, a little sheepishly, stared into the empty basket.
Papa Fregeau, who had reached Jean's side, was staring into it too.
"Yes—the fish! The fish!" he shouted. "Where are the fish you promised to bring back?"
And then Jean laughed.
"Why," said Jean, "I—I think I must have forgotten them."
Papa Fregeau was excited. He began to dance up and down, his fat paunch shaking like jelly.
"Idiot! Imbecile!" he stormed. "Have I not had trouble enough without this! Sacré bleu de misericorde! What an afternoon! And you laugh—bête, that you are! And now what shall I do?"
"Do?" said Jean—-and stopped laughing. "What is the matter?"
"Matter!" spluttered the patron of the Bas Rhône. "Matter! Have I not told you what is the matter? The fish!"
"Yes, but a few fish," said Jean, eyeing the other in a half puzzled way. "What are a few fish that you—"