Then there is feasting, more healths, more music; then a general cry for the farandole, and in an instant they are wreathing it, uninvited and all, in hall, and lane, and street; fife and tambourine and flying feet are at it with an élan that even that sunny land of song and dance, Provence, would find it hard to equal. In the evening there is a great ball given to the guests, and, on the next days, more processions, and a ball for the uninvited, at which the bride and bridegroom appear for a few minutes, open the dancing with a contre-danse, and then withdraw. The third day's round is somewhat similar, but there are fewer ladies present--many of them have had enough--and one notices, walking behind the drums and fifes, an individual carrying a laurel--not a branch, but a bush, well-grown and decked with ribbons. At the maison paternelle a halt is made, and all gather round to admire the laurel. Then he calls for the strongest volunteers to assist the bearer. "Are you ready, you six?" "Yes," in six voices. "You know the job is none so easy--dangerous too?" "No fun if it wasn't." "To it, then." "Tie it well!" "And as high as you can!" "Come down now--and take care!" They have to tie the laurel to the highest chimney of the house. They mount gaily, for they are very excited, and, moreover, have a bottle with them, a bottle of good wine; good, sparkling, red wine that is pushing at the cork. They are going to sprinkle the tree with it. Happy tree! But the boys have had their share these days--'tis fairly the tree's turn. So they mount to the roof, called the _lid_ in the locality. "Not too steep, is it?" "Not a bit." "Can you stick it?" "Rather--comfortable as an armchair!" At last it is done, well done, with a good stout cord. "Look out for the baskets, John!" John pours prodigally, till the wine is trickling down the wall, and making a little rivulet in the street. "Long life to the laurel" yell the five others. "Long life to the porteur." "A la santé des camarades." All glasses are charged; then comes the clash of a trinquade, and, in an instant, every glass is drained. Jests fly about, and laughter. There is more drinking, more trinquades. "La ronde, the round of the laurel! Allons!" "Hands for the round--and hold tight." Beating time with their feet, they dance round the chimney, until the tiles resound, singing: Il est planté, le laurier; Le bon vin l'arrose. Qu'il amène aux mariées Ménage tout rose! Tout rose, Tout rose. Autour buvons et chantons; Ayons l'âme en joie! Qu'en gentil rejeton La mère se voit Se voie, Se voie! Que le rejeton grandi Plus tard se marie, Pour qu'un laurier reverdi Leux charme la vie! La vie, La vie! Que des ans et puis des ans Passent sur leur tête!... Et nous, sur ce Toit plaisant, Célébrons la fête. La fête, La fête!