Having been informed that her son had returned, Virginie the greengrocer came back at once and found the house empty. Initially unconcerned, after an hour had passed she started making inquiries. Her neighbours in the rue Dauphine had seen Isidore come home and not seen him go out again. They began to look for him. In vain. Worried now, the greengrocer ran to the Mayor’s house. All the Mayor knew was that the Rose King had been escorted safely home.

Madame Husson had just gone to bed when the news was brought to her that her protégé had disappeared. She immediately put on her black silk wig again, got up and went to Virginie’s herself. Virginie, a simple and emotional soul, was crying her eyes out surrounded by her cabbages, carrots and onions.

It was feared he might have had an accident. What sort, they wondered? Major Desbarres alerted the police who made a search of the entire town. On the road to Pontoise they found the little coronet of orange-blossom. It was placed on the table around which the authorities were now deliberating. The Rose King must have been the victim of some practical joke or, worse, of someone acting out of jealousy. What means had been employed to kidnap the innocent boy and what was the motive behind the kidnapping? Exhausted by the search they all went to bed, leaving Virginie to wait in tears alone.

The following night when the diligence returned from Paris, Gisors learned to its horror that its Rose King had flagged the coach down not 200 metres outside the parish boundary. He had got in, paid for his seat with a golden louis for which he was given change, and had got down in the very centre of the big city.

Feelings ran high at home. Letters were exchanged between the Mayor and the Paris chief of police but no further news came. Day followed day until finally a week passed. Then, out early one morning Dr Barbesol noticed a man sitting on someone’s doorstep. He was dressed in a grey suit and, with his head propped up against the wall of the house, was fast asleep. The doctor approached and recognized the man as Isidore. He tried to wake him but failed. The former Rose King was in a worryingly deep, impenetrable slumber. The doctor was puzzled and called for help to carry the young man to Boncheval, the pharmacist. As they lifted him up an empty bottle rolled out from underneath him. Sniffing it, the doctor declared that it had held brandy, which was useful to know as they tried to bring him round. Eventually they succeeded.