However, the vagaries of this _marrias_, this good-for-nothing knave, were the pranks of a free man. Neither married nor betrothed, fatherless and motherless, with no one to support or assist, no one whom he must please, he had a perfect right to live as he pleased! At least, that is what most people thought. Moreover, Renaud, although an honest man, had the tastes of a vagabond. Before his heart was filled with his strange affection for Livette, by which he felt as if he were bound hand and foot, he had, in truth, borne a part with Rampal in many curious adventures. More than once they had galloped along side by side toward the open moor, each having _en croupe_ a laughing damsel, who, after the close of a bull-fight at Aigues-Mortes or Arles, had consented to accompany them for a night. But on such occasions Renaud had always dealt frankly, never promising marriage nor any other thing, but simply giving the fair one a present, a souvenir, a brass ring, or a silk handkerchief--a _fichu_ to pleat after the Arlesian fashion, or a broad velvet ribbon for a head-dress; while Rampal was treacherous, promised much and did nothing,--in short, was nothing but _féna_, a good-for-nothing. So Rampal had borrowed Renaud's horse with the intention of bringing him back the same evening; but that evening he had heard of a fête at Martigues and had ridden away thither without worrying about Renaud. "He'll take a horse out of his _manade_," he said to himself. Now, Audiffret, Livette's father, had insisted that Renaud should take Blanchet. "Take Blanchet," he said. "I don't like to have our girl ride him. He's a fine horse, but bad-tempered at times. Finish breaking him for us. I want him to run in the races at Béziers this year. Take him." Happy to have Blanchet in the hands of "her dear," for so she already called Renaud in her heart, Livette, who was fond of Blanchet, simply said: "Take good care of him." That was more than six months before. Rampal, who had caused considerable gossip meanwhile, and of whom Renaud had heard more than once, had not brought back the horse. Renaud did not lose his patience. Several times, being informed that Rampal was in this or that place, he had tried to find him, but had not succeeded. "I shall catch him some day!" said Renaud. "He loses nothing by waiting." He hoped that the fête at Saintes-Maries would bring the rascal back. "He will come back with the thieving gipsies!" he said; and he was not mistaken. Not for an empire would Rampal have missed making the pilgrimage to Saintes-Maries. The rascal would have thought himself everlastingly damned. It had been his habit from childhood to come and ask forgiveness of his sins from the two Marys and Sara the bondwoman, at whom he did nothing but laugh in a boastful way, unable to satisfy himself whether he believed in them or not.