Raimond V. appeared before the assembly attended by four lackeys in livery, who walked before him, bearing candlesticks with white wax candles. He was followed by his family and his guests. At the sight of the baron, cries of “Long live monseigneur!” resounded on all sides. In front of the door on the ground lay a large olive-tree, the trunk and branches. It was the Christmas log. Abbé Mascarolus, in cassock and surplice, commenced the ceremony by blessing the Christmas log, or the _calignaou_, as it was called in the Provençal language; then the child approached, followed by Laramée, who, in his costume of majordomo, bore on a silver tray a gold cup filled with wine. The child took the cup in his little hands and poured, three times, a few drops of wine on the _calignaou_, or Christmas log, and recited, in a sweet and silvery voice, the old Provençal verse, always said upon this solemn occasion: “‘Allègre, Diou nous allègre, Cachofué ven, tou ben ven, Diou nous fague la grace de veire l’an que ven, Se si an pas mai, que signen pas men.’” “Oh, let us be joyful, God gives us all joy; Cachofué comes, and it comes all to bless; God grant we may live to see the New Year; But if we are no more, may we never be less!” These innocent words, recited by the child with charming grace, were listened to with religious solemnity. Then the child wet his lips with the wine in the cup, and presented it to Raimond V., who did likewise, and the cup passed from hand to hand, among all the members of the baron’s family, until each one had wet his lips with the consecrated beverage. Then twelve foresters in holiday dress lifted the calignaou, and carried it into the hall of the dais, while, in conformity to the law of the ceremony, Raimond V. held in his hand one of the roots of the tree, and the child held one of the branches; the old man saying, “Black roots are old age,” and the child answering, “Green branches are youth,” and the assistants adding in chorus, “God bless us all, who love him and serve him!” The log, borne into the hall on the robust shoulders of the foresters, was placed in the immense fireplace, whereupon the child took a pine torch, and held it to a pile of fir-apples and boughs; a tall white flame sparkled in the vast, black hearth, and threw a joyous radiance to the farther end of the gallery. “Christmas, Christmas!” cried the guests of the baron, clapping their hands. “Christmas! Christmas!” repeated the vassals assembled in the interior court. At the same moment, the pile of wood outside was kindled, and the tall yellow flames mounted in the midst of enthusiastic shouts, and whirls of a Provençal dance. One other last ceremony was to take place, and then the guests would gather around the supper-table.