The crest of the Mistrals is three clover leaves with the somewhat audacious device, “All or Nothing.” For those who, like ourselves, read a horoscope in the fatality of patronymics and the mystery of chance encounters, it is a curious coincidence to find in the olden days the Love Court of Romanin united to the Manor of the Mistrals, and the name of Mistral designating the great wind of the land of Provence, and lastly, these three trefoils significantly pointing to the destiny of our family. The trefoil, so I was informed by the Sâr Peladan, when it has four leaves becomes a talisman, but with three expresses symbolically the idea of the indigenous plant, development and growth by slow degrees in the same spot. The number three signifies also the household, father, mother, and son in the mystic sense. Three trefoils, therefore, stand for three successive harmonious generations, or nine, which number in heraldry represents wisdom. The device “All or Nothing” is well suited to those sedentary flowers which will not bear transplanting and are emblematic of the enured landholder. * * * * * But to leave these trifles. My father, who lost his first wife, married again at the age of fifty-five, and I was the offspring of this second marriage. It was in the following manner my parents met each other: One summer’s day on the Feast of St. John, Master François Mistral stood in the midst of his cornfields watching the harvesters as they mowed down the crop with their sickles. A troop of women followed the labourers, gleaning the ears of corn which escaped the rake. Among them my father noticed one, a handsome girl, who lingered shyly behind as though afraid to glean like the rest. Going up to her he inquired: “Who are you, pretty one? What is your name?” “I am the daughter of Étienne Poulinet,” the young girl replied, “the Mayor of Maillane. My name is Delaïde.” “Does the daughter of Master Poulinet, Mayor of Maillane, come, then, to glean?” asked my father in surprise. “Sir, we are a large family,” she answered, “six daughters and two sons; and our father, though he is fairly well off, when we ask him for pocket-money to buy pretty clothes, tells us we must go and earn it. That is why I have come here to glean.” Six months after this meeting, which recalls the old biblical scene between Ruth and Boaz, the brave yeoman asked the Mayor of Maillane for his daughter’s hand in marriage; and I was born of their union. My entry into the world took place on September 8th, 1830. My father, according to his wont, was that afternoon in his fields when they sent from the house to announce my arrival. The messenger, so soon as he came within hearing, called to him: “Master, come--the mistress is just delivered.” “How many?” asked my father. “One, my faith--a fine son.” “A son, may God make him good and wise.”