T HE ROUNDABOUT on a ridge outside the Provençal town of Beaucaire is a pleasant enough spot. The sky is clear, the air is warm, and the view over the Rhône valley would be picturesque, were it not dominated by a giant cement works. On the roadside, a festive group of 30 or so gilets jaunes (yellow jackets) protesters has set up camp outside a yellow-painted shed. On the grassy bank, 11 yellow crosses have been planted in the earth—one for each of those who have died in accidents linked to the protests countrywide.

“We have occupied this place every day, even over Christmas and New Year,” says Bernard, a pensioner, “and we’re not going to stop now.” As the working day draws to a close, more cars pull up, disgorging provisions and small children. Parasols are opened to shade a picnic table, and toys lie on the ground. If the gilets jaunes elsewhere have mostly left the roundabouts, or been forcibly moved from them, pockets such as this corner of southern France and nearby Avignon are holding out.

Four months after the gilets jaunes protesters first emerged, what was originally a revolt against the rising tax on motor fuel has turned into a longer-running protest movement than the May 1968 student uprising. To be sure, the number of weekend demonstrators has dropped, from 280,000 last November to just 40,000 last weekend. And recent rioting in Paris, particularly violent on March 16th, has eroded public sympathy. Support for the gilets jaunes fell from 72% in December to 46% in March. Internal quarrels over whether to set up a political party, and insurrectional posturing by the movement’s more unhinged organisers, have also discredited the movement. So have the efforts of President Emmanuel Macron to meet some of the protesters’ demands.

Yet the anger in parts of la France profonde has not been quelled. On the Beaucaire roundabout, the mood is defiant. The gilets jaunes know that, over in the 17th-century town hall, they have the implicit backing of the town’s mayor, Julien Sanchez, who is from Marine Le Pen’s populist National Rally (formerly National Front). He took part in the first gilets jaunes protest last year, and does not disguise his sympathy for them. Naturally, Mr Sanchez blames the violence, which has also marked protests in nearby Nîmes, not on the far right but on extreme-left “anti-fascists”, whose objective is “to sow chaos”. Moreover, he claims, however absurdly, that this suits Mr Macron. “If the government had wanted to stop the movement, it would have,” he says. “But this allows them to demonise it.”

In reality, the failure to control the vandalism and arson attacks has undermined Mr Macron’s authority, and that of his interior minister, Christophe Castaner. And it has raised fresh questions about policing methods. The use of non-lethal police weapons during earlier protests—leading to at least 22 serious eye injuries—was denounced as excessive by the United Nations high commissioner for human rights. Yet Edouard Philippe, the prime minister, who last week fired the head of the Paris police, has now urged the police to clamp down more firmly on rioters. A tough “anti-hooligan” bill, contested by 50 deputies from Mr Macron’s own party, has been passed by parliament.

Indeed, if Mr Macron’s poll numbers have recovered, it is despite the violence, and largely because of his marathon “great national debate”, designed to show that a leader seen as aloof and out of touch can in fact listen. The president has rolled up his shirt sleeves, taken notes, and spent over 50 hours listening to grievances. Nearly 2m contributions to the debate have been posted online, and thousands of local town-hall meetings organised.

In Beaucaire, 55% of the town’s voters backed Ms Le Pen for president in the second round. When asked what he thinks of Mr Macron, one gilet jaune pulls his forefinger across his throat. Nonetheless the town hall held an evening debate, attended by many local gilets jaunes, who see Mr Sanchez as “one of us”. Complaints ranged from the perks given to former presidents, and a proposal to abolish the “useless” Senate, to the “advantages” Mr Macron hands out to “immigrants” rescued in the Mediterranean over “the French”.

Indeed, if there is a recurring theme in this Mediterranean hinterland, where the National Front put down early roots, it is immigration—even though it was not one of Mr Macron’s original debate topics. Local gilets jaunes approve of Mr Sanchez’s decision to abolish “substitute meals” in Beaucaire’s schools, thus keeping pork on the menu, a tactic one commentator denounces as an “alibi for xenophobia”. Their local Facebook groups are filled with alarmist stories about uncontrolled immigration. Which is why, whatever emerges from Mr Macron’s great debate, the politician standing to gain the most from the gilets jaunes there is Ms Le Pen—so long as a new party does not split her vote. “Macron is letting in thousands of immigrants,” claims Eric, up on the roundabout. “And they get better benefits. We’re not interested in any gilets jaunes party, because it will just help him.”