"Oh, monsieur!" cried Morrie.
"I will grant you a delay of three months," said the Forodois. "That gives you until eleven o'clock on the 25 Soûlimôse (25 March in the reckoning of the People of the Toadstools)."
"Monsieur, you have saved my honour and my life," effused Morrie. "You will be paid, or" (he whispered) "I shall die."
Having received Morrie's most fervent benedictions, the stranger took leave. On the stairway he met Bilbette, who cried, as was evidently the fashion of the time, "Oh, monsieur!" He whispered to her, "Mademoiselle, you will receive some day a letter from Éarendeau le marin; do exactly what it says, down to the smallest detail, including nail polish, even if it seems completely bizarre."
"I promise, monsieur."
"Excellent. Remain always the good and holy and queenly daughter you are, and Érou will reward you with a good husband and many, many succulent mushrooms."
Bilbette blushed, and before she could recover, the Snowman was gone, leaving only a small pool of water and a heart that melted with gratitude as the very Beaujolais of beatitude.
