THE POPE’?S MULE 69

St. Agrico, the violet capes of the
members of the household, the inferior
clergy, also the Pope’s soldiers in full
uniform, the three confraternities of
penitents, the hermits of Mont Ven-
toux with their savage looks, and the
little acolyte that walks after with the
bell, the flagellants stripped to the
waist, the rosy- sacristans dressed like
judges, all, all even to the holy water-
bearers, and those who light and those
who put out the candles. . . . Not one
was wanting. . . . Ah! it was a grand
function. Bells, cannon-shots, sun-
shine, music, and the maddening drums
still leading on the dance down below
on the bridge of Avignon.

When Védeéne appeared in the midst
of the assembly, his noble bearing and
his handsome looks created a hum of
admiration. He was a splendid Pro-
vencal— one of the fair sort, with
profuse locks, curling at the ends, and
a little downy beard that seemed made
of the shavings of gold that fell from