o the
carpenter's son myrrh and the triple crown.

As Jansoulet was being warmly congratulated by every one, Cardailhac,
who had not been seen since morning, suddenly appeared, triumphant and
perspiring. "Didn't I tell you there was something to work on! Eh? Isn't
it fine? What a scene! I bet our Parisians would pay dear to be at such
a first performance as this!" And lowering his voice, on account of the
mother who was quite near, "Have you seen our country girls? No? Examine
them more closely--the first, the one in front, who is to present the
bouquet."

"Why, it is Amy Ferat!"

"Just so. You see, old fellow, if the Bey should throw his handkerchief
amid that group of loveliness there must be some one to pick it up. They
wouldn't understand, these innocents. Oh, I have thought of everything,
you will see. Everything is prepared and regulated just as on the stage.
Garden side--farm side."

Here, to give an idea of the perfect organization, the manager raised
his stick. Immediately his gesture was repeated from the top to the
bottom of the park, and from the choral societies, from the brass bands,
from the tambourines, there burst forth the majestic strains of the
popular southern song, _Grand Soleil de la Provence_. Voices and
instruments rose in the sunlight, the banners filled, the dancers swayed
to their first movement, while on the other side of the river a report
flew like a breeze that the Bey had arrived unexpectedly by another
route. The manager made another gesture, and the immense orchestra was
hushed. The response was slower this time, there were little delays, a
hail of words lost in the leaves; but one could not expect more from a
concourse of three thousand people. Just then the carriages appeared,
the state coaches which had been used on the occasion of the last Bey's
visit--two large chariots, pink and gold as at Tunis. Mme. Jansoulet
had tended them almost as holy relics, and they had come out of their
coverings, with their panels, their hangings and their gold fringes,
as shining and new as the day they were made. Here again Cardailhac's
ingenuity had been freely exercised. He had thought horses looked too
heavy for those unreal fragilities, so he had harnessed instead eight
mules, with white reins, decorated with bows and pompons and bells, and
caparisoned from head to foot in that marvellous Esparto work--an art
Provence has borrowed from the Moors and perfected. How could the Bey
not be please