“I’ll go and find him,” said Aristide.
“And waste time? Bah!” said the iron-faced old lady, catching up a black silk shawl. “I will come with you and identify the ring of my sainted sister Philomène. Who should know it better than I?”
“As you like, Madame,” said Aristide.
Two minutes found them on their journey. Madame Coquereau, in spite of her sixty-five years trudged along with springing step.
“They don’t make metal like me, nowadays,” she said scornfully.
When they arrived at the gate of the Avenue, the police on guard saluted. The mother of Monsieur le Maire was a power in Perpignan.
“Monsieur,” said Aristide, in lordly fashion, to a policeman, “will you have the goodness to make a passage through the crowd for Madame Coquereau, and then help the Brigadier Pésac to arrest the burglar who broke into the house of Monsieur le Maire?”
The man obeyed, went ahead clearing the path with the unceremoniousness of the law, and Aristide giving his arm to Madame Coquereau followed gloriously. As the impressive progress continued the revellers ceased their revels and followed in the wake of Aristide. At the end of the Avenue Brigadier Pésac was on guard. He approached.
“They are still there,” he said.
“Good,” said Aristide.