They went on and on, over miles of road bordered by poplars, on into the golden dust, into the purple sunset.
A few miles more, and there lay Dijon.
A week before, the town had been prepared, by bright-colored posters, for the coming of the great, the marvelous circus. The walls and fences were simply covered with pictures of the wonderful performance.
Performing horses, looking huge as elephants, clowns at their most amusing tricks, gymnasts doing their most thrilling feats, all were pictured.
The tamer was there too, life-size, his head in the mouth of Sultan, the big black Persian lion, while Mademoiselle Reine, his charming daughter, Clown's new mistress, beneath a cloudless sky drove four white does, scattering flowers as she went.
At last the travelers came to the first country houses, the vineyards and finally the spires, the tower of St. John the Fearless and the other buildings of the capital of Burgundy standing out against the evening gloom.
Before they entered the town, a halt was called. Order was restored, the cages were shut, a moment's rest was taken; then the troupe set out again, to encamp at last on a large piece of open ground near the gates of the city.
While the tents were being set up and the cages placed—in short, the whole circus installed—a huge procession bearing torches was organized, which rode through Dijon, led by a band of music.