“A wedding!” cried the fat Gafet, who had not yet left us. “A wedding,” echoed Daudet, who, with his short sight, only just perceived the advancing party. “An Arlesienne wedding! A moonlight wedding! A wedding in the middle of the Rhône!” And taken with a sudden mad impulse, our buck sprang forward, threw himself on the neck of the bride, and kissed her with a will. Then followed a pretty row! We were all in for it, and if ever we were hard put to it in our lives, it was certainly on that occasion. Twenty fellows with raised sticks surrounded us: “To the Rhône with the rascals!” “What is it all about?” cried Master Gafet, pushing back the crowd. “Can’t you see we have been drinking? Drinking to the health of the bride in the Trinquetaille, and that to commence drinking again would do us harm?” “Long live the bridal couple!” we all exclaimed. And thanks to the valiant Gafet, whom every one knew, and to his presence of mind, the thing ended there. * * * * * The next question was where to go next? The Man of Bronze had just struck eleven o’clock. We decided to make the tour of the Aliscamps.[19] Passing down the Lice d’Arles we went the round of the ramparts, and by the light of the moon descended the avenue of poplars leading to the cemetery of the old Arles of the Romans. And while wandering amongst the tombs and sarcophagi, showing white on either side in long rows, we solemnly chaunted the fine ballad by Camille Reybaud: The poplars growing in the churchyard here Salute the dead that in these graves abide-- If thou the sacred mysteries dost fear Oh never pass the churchyard by so near! The long, white grave-stones in the churchyard here Have flung their heavy covers open wide. If thou the sacred mysteries, &c. &c. Upon the greensward in the churchyard here The dead men all stand upright side by side. If thou the sacred mysteries, &c. &c. They all embrace within the churchyard here, These mute and silent brothers who have died. If thou the sacred mysteries, &c. &c. ’Tis keeping holiday, the churchyard here, And dancing to and fro the dead men glide. If thou the sacred mysteries, &c. &c. Across the churchyard now the moon shines clear; Each maiden seeks her love, each lad his bride. If thou the sacred mysteries, &c. &c. No more they find them, in the churchyard here, Their loves of yore, that would not be denied. If thou the sacred mysteries, &c. &c. Oh open me the churchyard wicket wide! Let my love in, to comfort them that died!... (Trans. Alma Strettell.) Suddenly, from a yawning tomb three paces from us, we heard in dolorous sepulchral tones these words: “Let sleep in peace those who sleep!” We remained petrified, and all around us in the moonlight a deep silence reigned. At last Mathieu said softly to Grivolas: “Didst thou hear?”