“Where does he come from, this Jarjaye?”
“From Tarascon.”
“A Tarasconais?” cried Saint Luke. “Oh! what an innocent you are! There is nothing, nothing easier than to make him go out. Being, as you know, a friend of cattle, the patron of cattle-drovers, I am often in the Camargue, Arles, Beaucaire, Nîmes, Tarascon, and I know that people. I have studied their peculiarities, and how to manage them. Come—you shall see.”
At that moment there went by a flight of cherubs.
“Little ones!” called Saint Luke, “here, here!”
The cherubs descended.
“Go quietly outside Paradise—and when you get in front of the door, run past crying out: ‘The oxen—the oxen!’”
So the cherubs went outside Paradise and when they were in front of the door they rushed past crying, “Oxen, oxen! Oh see, see the cattle-drover!”
Jarjaye turned round, amazed.
“Thunder! What, do they drive cattle here? I am off!” he cried.