THE POPE’S MULE 61

tower, the highest point of the palace!
. .. And this is no idle tale that I
tell you. Two hundred thousand Pro-
vencals saw it take place. You may
fancy the poor mule’s agony of fright
when, after climbing a winding stair-
case for an hour in the dark, she
suddenly found herself on an open
platform, in blinding sunshine, and saw
a thousand feet below all Avignon like
a puppet-show. The market stalls no
bigger than hazel-nuts, the Pope’s
soldiers in front of their barracks look-
ing like red ants, and farther off over
a thread of silver a tiny bridge where
people were dancing... .. Ah, poor
creature, what a state she was in! She
neighed so shrilly that all the palace
windows rattled.

‘What is it? What are they doing
to her ?’ shouted the good Pope, rushing
out on the balcony.

Tistet Védéne was in the courtyard
by this time pretending to cry and
tearing his hair.