ast presided over by the old mother
with a new Cambrai cap on her head,--a breakfast at which, side by side
with Parisian celebrities, prefects were present and deputies, all in
full dress, with swords at their sides, mayors in their scarfs of
office, honest cures cleanly shaven,--when Jansoulet, in black coat and
white cravat, surrounded by his guests, went out upon the stoop and
saw, framed in that magnificent landscape, amid flags and arches and
ensigns, that swarm of heads, that sea of brilliant costumes rising
tier above tier on the slopes and thronging the paths; here, grouped
in a nosegay on the lawn, the prettiest girls of Arles, whose little
white faces peeped sweetly forth from lace neckerchiefs; below, the
_farandole_ from Barbantane, its eight tambourines in a line, ready for
the word, hand in hand, ribbons fluttering in the wind, hats over one
ear, the red _taillote_ about the loins; still lower, in the succession
of terraces, the choral societies drawn up in line, all black beneath
their bright-hued caps, the banner-bearer in advance, serious and
resolved, with clenched teeth, holding aloft his carved staff; lower
still, on an immense _rond-point_, black bulls in shackles, and
Camargue gauchos on their little horses with long white manes, their
leggings above their knees, brandishing their spears; and after them
more flags and helmets and bayonets, reaching to the triumphal arch at
the entrance; then, as far as the eye could see on the other side of
the Rhone,--over which two gangs of workmen had just thrown a bridge of
boats, so that they could drive from the station to Saint-Romans in a
straight line,--was an immense crowd, whole villages pouring down from
all the hills, overflowing on the Giffas road in a wilderness of noise
and dust, seated on the edge of the ditches, swarming among the elms,
piled upon wagons, a formidable living lane for the procession to pass
through; and over it all a huge white sun whose arrows a capricious
breeze sent in every direction, from the copper of a tambourine to the
point of a spear and the fringe of a banner, while the mighty Rhone,
high-spirited and free, bore away to the ocean the shifting tableaux of
that royal fete. In presence of those marvels, in which all the gold in
his coffers shone resplendent, the Nabob felt a thrill of admiration
and pride.

"It is fine," he said, turning pale, and his mother, standing behind
him, as pale as he, but from indescribable terro