Maker.... My cardinals will
protest, but so what; I'm quite used to that.... Come and see us
tomorrow after vespers, we will give you the insignias of your office
in the presence of our chapter, and then ... I'll take you to see the
mule and you can accompany us to the vineyard.... Well, well, let's do
it....

I needn't tell you that Tistet Vedene left the hall walking on air, and
couldn't wait for the next day's ceremony. And yet, there was someone
in the palace, someone even happier and more impatient than he. Yes, it
was the mule. From the moment Vedene returned, right until the next
day's vespers, the fearsome beast never stopped stuffing herself with
hay and kicking her rear hoofs out at the wall. She, too, was making
her own special preparations for the ceremony....

And so, the next day, after vespers, Tistet Vedene made his entry into
the courtyard of the papal palace. All the head clergymen were there,
the cardinals in red robes, the devil's advocate in black velvet, the
convent's abbots in their petite mitres, the church wardens of
Saint-Agrico, and the purple capes of the choir school. The rank and
file clergy were also there, the papal guard in full dress uniform, the
three brotherhoods of penitentiaries, the Mount Ventoux hermits with
their wild looks, and the little clerk who followed them carrying his
bell. Also there were the flagellant brothers, naked to the waist, the
sacristans, sprouting judge's robes, and all and sundry, even the
holy-water dispensers, and those that light, and those that extinguish,
the candles.... Not one of them was missing.... It was a great
ordination! Bells, fireworks, sunshine, music and, as always, the
tambourine playing fanatics leading the dance, over there, _sur le pont
d'Avignon_....

When Vedene appeared in the midst of the assembly, his bearing and
handsome appearance set off quite a murmur of approval. He was the
magnificent type of a man from Provence, from fair-headed stock with
curly hair and a small wispy beard which could have been made from the
fine metal shavings fallen from his goldsmith father's chisel. Rumour
has it that Queen Jeanne's fingers had occasionally toyed with that
blond beard. The majesty of Vedene had indeed a glorious aspect; he had
the vain, distracted look of men who have been loved by queens. On that
day, as a courtesy to his native country, he had exchanged his
Neapolitan clothes for a pink, braided jacket in the Provencal style,
and a