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.
"Ha, ha! What is your brother like, jolly dogs ?" "He has a face of ivory, and eyes like torches, and he carries a silver sword." "But what the devil is his face like ivory for, my fanfarons ?" "So that he shall not blush for us.

He is a grand seigneur," they shouted back.
"Why are his eyes like torches, my ragamuffins ?" "To show us the way home." Valmond appeared upon the balcony.
"What is it you wish, my children ?" he asked.