She knew Isidore very well. He was the son of Virginie who kept the greengrocer’s shop. His amazing celibacy was now Gisors’ pride and joy. It was also an interesting topic of conversation throughout the town and a source of great amusement to the girls, who teased him mercilessly about it. He was past twenty now, tall and gangling, shy and a bit slow in his manner. He helped his mother in the business and spent most of his time sitting on a chair near the shop door preparing the fruit and vegetables for display.

He was scared witless by girls and immediately lowered his gaze if one of them gave him a smile when she came into the shop. This well-known timidity of his made him the easy butt of every joke in town. Anything vaguely rude or risqué made him blush so quickly that Dr Barbesol called him his modesty thermometer. His neighbours took malicious delight in speculating whether he knew anything or not. What was it exactly which affected the greengrocer’s son so deeply? Was it plain indignation at the necessarily messy contact required by love for its full flowering? Or was it shame for his ignorance about something mysterious and unknown?

Little urchins would run up and down in front of the shop yelling obscenities, simply to see him lower his gaze. Girls passed back and forth, whispering wicked things which would force him to retreat indoors. The bolder ones teased him openly for the hell of it, asking him for dates and making terrible suggestions.

Anyway, as I say, Madame Husson was giving it much thought. It was certainly true that Isidore was a remarkable, not to say a famous, example of virtue. Totally unimpeachable. No one, not even the most sceptical, even the most suspicious mind could cast any doubt whatsoever on Isidore’s complete moral integrity. He had never once been seen in a café and never out in the street at night. He went to bed at eight and got up at four. He was a pearl among men. Perfection itself.

Still Madame Husson hesitated. The idea of substituting a Rose King for a Rose Queen still worried and dismayed her a little. She decided to consult the abbé Malou.

The abbé replied: “What is it you wish to reward, Madame? Virtue, is it not? Virtue pure and simple. In which case, what does it matter if it be male or female? Virtue is eternal. It transcends birth and gender. It is Virtue.”

Thus encouraged, Madame Husson went to see the mayor. He was in total agreement.

“We shall have a beautiful ceremony,” he said. “Then another year if we find a woman as worthy as Isidore we shall crown a woman. I would go so far as to say that this could act as a lesson to Nanterre. We do not exclude. Let us be the ones who welcome merit of every kind.”