In spite of the continual apprehension of a visit from the pirates, all the inhabitants of Maison-Forte shared the traditional gaiety, so to speak, which the approach of Christmas, the most joyous and most important festival of the year, always brought to Provence. Every evening before supper, the baron made, in company with his daughter, what he called his inspection; that is, he went through the whole theatre of the various occupations with which we have been entertaining the reader, chatting familiarly with everybody, listening to requests and complaints, often impatient and sometimes flying into a passion and scolding, but always full of justice and kindness, and so cordial in his good-humour that his bursts of irritation were soon forgotten. Raimond V. kept a large part of his domain in good condition. He sat up a long time at night to talk with his principal shepherds, labourers, farmers, and vinedressers, convinced of the wisdom of the two Provençal proverbs, worthy of the watchman on the cape of l’Aigle: _Luci doou mestre engraisso lou chivaou_,--the eye of the master fattens the horse. _Bouen pastre, bouen ave_,--good shepherd, good flock. The old gentleman usually completed his circuit by a visit to the pharmacy, where he found Abbé Mascarolus, who gave him a sort of hygienic statement of the health of the inhabitants of the domain Des Anbiez. To-day, he passed by the laundry, going directly to the pharmacy, accompanied by Reine. Preparations for the Christmas holidays were going on all through the castle, but the most important solemnity of all was reserved for the care of the venerable Dulceline, who had entreated the abbé to enlighten her with his counsels. This was the cradle or crib, a sort of picture placed every Christmas day in the most beautiful room of the habitation,--castle, cottage, or mansion. This picture represented the birth of the infant Jesus; there were the stable, the ox, the ass, St Joseph, and the Virgin holding on her knees the Saviour of the world. Every family, poor or rich, deemed it absolutely requisite to have a cradle as elegant as could be afforded, ornamented with garlands and tinsel, and illuminated with a circle of candles. As Raimond V. passed the laundry, he was surprised not to see Dulceline, and asked where she was. “Monseigneur,” said a young girl with black eyes and cheeks the colour of a pomegranate, “Mile. Dulceline is in the chamber of the philters, with the abbé and Thereson; she is at work on the cradle, and forbids us to enter.” “The devil!” said the baron, “the supper-bell has rung, and the abbé must say grace for us.” He advanced to the door; it was fastened on the inside; he knocked. “Come, come, abbé, supper is ready, and I am as hungry as the devil.” “One moment, monseigneur,” said Dulceline, “we cannot open,--it is a secret.” “What, abbé, you have secrets with Dulceline?” said the old gentleman, laughing.