"Protect us, great saints! May the sea be kind to us of Saintes-Maries this year!" Poor people, poor souls! Wait till next year. Every year it is the same thing. All this returns and will return, like the seasons. On the day following that on which the relics returned to their retreat, the majority of the pilgrims left the village. All the camps were struck at almost the same hour. The carriages of all sorts, the cabriolets, dog-carts, _chars-à-bancs_, _jardinières_, break-necks, the rich farmers' breaks, and the peasants' wagons, covered with canvas stretched over hoops, carried away seven, eight, ten thousand travellers of all ages, sick or well, and the long line crawled like a serpent over the flat road between two deserts. Here and there, at the left of the line, mounted men, many of whom carried a girl _en croupe_, rode back and forth, looking for one another, now waiting, now riding on at a gallop to take the lead of the caravan. This departure of the pilgrims was another spectacle for the good people of Saintes-Maries, who stood around in noisy groups on the outskirts of the village, waving a last adieu to the guests whose presence they had taken advantage of to the utmost. Those who had been compelled to give shelter to friends and had consequently been unable to put so high a price on their hospitality, good-humoredly repeated the amusing sentiment, that certainly smacks less of Arabia than do the horses of the district: _Friends who come to visit us always afford us pleasure; if not when they arrive, at all events when they depart._ On the second day following that on which the gipsy had smiled upon the drover, when the party of zingari passed in their place at the tail of the procession, some mounted on sorry nags, others jolting about in their wretched wagons,--some of the women on foot, the better to beg, carrying their children slung bandoleer-wise over their backs,--it was observed that the queen's wagon was not among them. Zinzara had remained at Saintes-Maries. She proposed to give herself the pleasure of administering a rebuff to the drover, with whom she had made an assignation for that very evening. This is what had taken place. During the branding, Renaud had whispered in Zinzara's ear: "Ah! now I have you, gipsy! what a pity that it is before all these people!" "On my word, I have the same thought _at this moment_," she replied, deeply touched by the grand presence of mind he had just shown in defending her. "All right," he said, "I'll come and speak to you very soon. These are lovely nights." "No, to-morrow," said she, "to-morrow, do you understand? after the wagons have gone." But at the close of the performance, when he saw Livette coming toward him with pale cheeks, so pale that she looked like a corpse, he was seized with poignant remorse. "She saw me," he said to himself, "and she is suffering from jealousy."