“Not only a second lot, but such beasts as those could give you twins!”
“May God hear you! Monsieur Lassagne!”
We had hardly finished talking to the shepherd when we overtook an old woman gathering chicory in the ditches.
“’Hold, it is thou, Bérengère,” said Lassagne, accosting her. “Now really from behind with thy red kerchief I took thee for Téréson, the daughter-in-law of Cacha, thou art exactly like her!”
“Me! Oh Monsieur Lassagne, but think of it! I am seventy years old!”
“Oh come, come, from behind if thou couldst see thyself, thou hast no need of pity. I have seen worse baskets at the vintage!”
“This Monsieur Lassagne, he must always have his joke,” said the old woman, shaking with laughter; and turning to me she added:
“Believe me, sir, it is not just a way of speaking, but this Monsieur Lassagne is the cream of men. He is friendly with all. He will chat, see you, with the smallest in the country even to the babies! That is why he has been fifty years Mayor of Gigognan, and will be to the end of his days.”
“Well, my friend,” said Lassagne to me, “It is not I, is it, that have said it! All of us like nice things, we like compliments, and we are all gratified by kind manners. Whether dealing with women, with kings, or with the people, he who would reign must please. And that is the secret of the Mayor of Gigognan.
(Almanach Provençal, 1883.)