river Rhone forever, that day the boatmen shall perish. The men do not
laugh, for they have already heard of the great boats that can make
their way against the current without horses. Apian breaks out into
furious imprecations against the men who would ruin the thousands that
depend for their living upon the river. One is struck by this
introduction of a question of political economy into a poem.

During the journey to Avignon the Prince falls more and more in love
with the little Anglore, whom no sort of evidence can shake out of her
belief that the Prince is the Drac, for the Drac can assume any form at
pleasure. Her delusion is so complete, so naïve, that the prince,
romantic by nature, is entirely under the spell.

There come on board three Venetian women, who possess the secret of a
treasure, twelve golden statues of the Apostles buried at Avignon. The
Prince leaves the boat to help them find the place, and the little maid
suffers intensely the pangs of jealousy. But he comes back to her, and
takes her all about the great fair at Beaucaire. That night, however, he
wanders out alone, and while calling to mind the story of Aucassin and
Nicolette, he is sandbagged, but not killed. The Anglore believes he has
left his human body on the ground so as to visit his caverns beneath the
Rhone. William seems unhurt, and at the last dinner before they start to
go up the river again, surrounded by the crew, he makes them a truly
Felibrean speech:--

"Do you know, friends, to whom I feel like consecrating our last meal in
Beaucaire? To the patriots of the Rhodanian shores, to the dauntless men
who, in olden days, maintained themselves in the strong castle that
stands before our eyes, to the dwellers along the riverbanks who
defended so valiantly their customs, their free trade, and their great