"To the Rhone!" he cries, and all who are with him uncover their heads, and make the sign of the cross, dipping their fingers in the wave—for the river is blessed every year, with a fine procession at the Pont St. Esprit, and so it is holy water.
A most singular and very "mixed" company the Caburle carries with her down the river during twelve long cantos: among them, curiously enough, William of Orange, son of the King of Holland, who had been sent to Provence for his health. Besides him there are three Venetian ladies who keep their companions lively with songs and jests. And this little blond prince—whom the doctors think the mistral is likely to benefit—has come to seek the flower of the Rhone of which he has heard so much—
"Flour de pantai, de gentun, de belésso,
que, pèr tout païs ounte s'atrovo,
L'ome i'es gai e la dona i'es bello."
("Fleur de beauté, fleur de grace et de rêve
Par tout pays ou on la trouve,
L'homme est joyeux, la femme belle.")
Then they all tell him that it is the flowering rush that nourishes itself in the water—which "l'Anglore" loves to gather. And the little blond prince pricks up his ears and wants to know who or what is l'Anglore. And thereby hangs a tale.
"La voilà, la voilà," they all cry on the barges.