The ice was broken. The Balthy of tradition began to peep through the surface and the King was delighted.
Our guest did more than show his liking for the shining light of the profession: he numbered friends also among the humble performers at the Grand Théâtre. Sabadon, the good, jolly, indescribable Sabadon, who for twenty years had sung first "heavy bass" at the theatre of the town, was one of them. This is how I discovered the fact: when the King came to Aix, some years ago, Sabadon shouldered his way to the front row of the spectators who were waiting outside the station to see His Majesty arrive. The enthusiastic crowd kept on shouting, "Long live King George!" and Sabadon, with his powerful voice, his "heavy bass" voice, which had filled all the "grand theatres" in the provinces, Sabadon, with his southern accent (he was from Toulouse) shouted louder than all the rest and, so that he might shout more freely, had taken a step forward.
But a policeman was watching; and fearing lest the royal procession should be disturbed by this intrusive person, he walked up to him and, in a bullying tone, said:
"Get back; and look sharp about it. You don't imagine you're going to stand in the King's road, do you?"
Sabadon, who is a hot-blooded fellow, like all the men from his part of the country, was about to reply with one of those forcible and pungent outbursts which are the salt of the Gascon speech:
"You low, rascally—" he began.
But he had no time to finish. The King appeared at the entrance to the railway-station, came across and, as he passed, said:
"Hullo, M. Sabadon! How do you do, M. Sabadon? Are they biting this year?"
"Yes, Sir, Your Majesty. And your family? Keeping well, I hope? That's right!"
Then, when the King had disappeared, Sabadon turned to the astounded policeman: