After this semi-religious procession, evening brought the march of
Garotte's Kalathumpians. They were carried on three long drays, each
drawn by four horses, half of them white, half black. They were an
outlandish crew of comedians, dressed after no pattern, save the absurd-
clowns, satyrs, kings, soldiers, imps, barbarians. Many had hideous
false-faces, and a few horribly tall skeletons had heads of pumpkins
containing lighted candles. The marshals were pierrots and clowns on
long stilts, who towered in a ghostly way above the crowd. They were
cheerful, fantastic revellers, singing the maddest and silliest of songs,
with singular refrains and repetitions. The last line of one verse was
the beginning of another:

"A Saint Malo, beau port de mer,
Trois gros navir' sont arrives.

Trois gros navir' sont arrives
Charges d'avoin', charges de ble."

For an hour and more their fantastic songs delighted the simple folk.
They stopped at last in front of the Louis Quinze. The windows of
Valmond's chambers were alight, and to one a staff was fastened.
Suddenly the Kalathumpians quieted where they stood, for the voice of
their leader, a sort of fat King of Yvetot, cried out:

"See there, my noisy children!" It was the inventive lime-burner who
spoke. "What come you here for, my rollicking blades?"

"We are a long way from home; we are looking for our brother, your
Majesty," they cried in chorus.