Ah! Christophore, the old pirate!--How he hurries along, with his lie on his shoulders!--He is a poor inhabitant of Saintes-Maries to whom the presence of so many strangers every year brings in something, as it does to all the rest, and he trots joyously off with his living decoy. The next day, the child of the miracle is found alone at the foot of the Calvary, on the beach, left there for a moment by the woman or child who acts as her guide. "Well, can you see?"--"No."--"What about the miracle, then?" Poor child! In her plaintive voice, she replies: "It has gone again!"--"But you did see, yesterday?"--"Yes."--"If you could see, why did they carry you?"--"Oh! monsieur, I couldn't see anything but flowers, bright red lilies; but as to walking--oh! no, I couldn't see to do that! And now it is all dark. I can't see anything at all any more; yes, the miracle--has gone away!" As soon as the relics had disappeared, everybody left the church in procession, to go to bless the sea--the sea that bore the saints to Camargue--the sea whereon the brave fishermen risk their lives every day. The curé walked at the head of the procession. He held a relic in his hand; it was the Silver Arm, a hollow object in which some relics of the saints can be seen through a little square of glass. The crowd followed in order. There were hundreds, yes, thousands of them. Great numbers of pilgrims, sitting on the dunes, watched the procession winding its way along the sandy beach where a few flat-boats lay high and dry. Behind Monsieur le curé, six men bore on their shoulders a carved and painted wooden image, of considerable size, representing the two saints in the boat. There was so much jostling, by so many of the crowd, to secure the honor of replacing the bearers, that the boat pitched and rolled on their shoulders as if it were at sea in a high wind. Saint Sara, the black saint, came next, borne by dark-haired, swarthy-faced gipsies, with eyes that glistened like jet. Their little ones meanwhile glided through the crowd like rats, creeping between people's legs and stealing handkerchiefs and purses. And in the wake of the saints came young men and maidens, carrying lilies, sweet-smelling lilies, collected in sheaves every year for the procession of the faithful. Others held tapers whose light could not be detected in the bright sunlight, but the lilies filled the air with perfume. These lilies were Livette's delight. Monsieur le curé reached the water's edge. He held out the Silver Arm. Thereupon, the sea, for an instant, recoiled--only a little. The poor fishermen's wives quickly crossed themselves. And all those who were standing on the dunes, watching the procession pass, saw the bearers marching at the head loom taller and taller at every step by reason of the mirage. And the saints on the bearers' shoulders gradually increased in size with them, and seemed to rise heavenward, of prodigious size, as in a vision.