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All around spread the plains in waste； burnt grass； leafless shrubs； thickets of cactus and mastic 〃the Granary of France！〃 a granary void of grain； alas！ and rich alone in vermin and jackals。 Abandoned camps； frightened tribes fleeing from them and famine； they know not whither； and strewing the road with corpses。 At long intervals French villages； with the dwellings in ruins； the fields untilled； the maddened locusts gnawing even the window…blinds； and all the settlers in the drinking…places； absorbing absinthe and discussing projects of reform and the Constitution。
This is what Tartarin might have seen had he given himself the trouble； but； wrapped up entirely in his leonine…hunger； the son of Tarascon went straight on； looking to neither right nor left； his eyes steadfastly fixed on the imaginary monsters which never really appeared。
As the shelter…tent was stubborn in not unfolding； and the compressed meat…cakes would not dissolve； the caravan was obliged to stop； morn and eve； at tribal camps。 Everywhere； thanks to the gorgeous cap of Prince Gregory； our hunters were welcomed with open arms。 They lodged in the aghas' odd palaces； large white windowless farmhouses； where they found； pell…mell； narghilehs and mahogany furniture； Smyrna carpets and moderator lamps； cedar coffers full of Turkish sequins； and French statuette…decked clocks in the Louis Philippe style。
Everywhere； too； Tartarin was given splendrous galas； diffas； and fantasias； which； being interpreted； mean feasts and circuses。 In his honour whole goums blazed away powder； and floated their burnouses in the sun。 When the powder was burnt； the agha would come and hand in his bill。 This is what is called Arab hospitality。
But always no lions； no more than on London Bridge。
Nevertheless； the Tarasconian did not grow disheartened。 Ever bravely diving more deeply into the South； he spent the days in beating up the thickets； probing the dwarf…palms with the muzzle of his rifle； and saying 〃Boh！〃 to every bush And every evening； before lying down； he went into ambush for two or three hours。 Useless trouble； however； for the lion did not show himself。
One evening； though； going on six o'clock； as the caravan scrambled through a violet…hued mastic…grove； where fat quails tumbled about in the grass； drowsy through the heat； Tartarin of Tarascon fancied he heard though afar and very vague； and thinned down by the breeze that wondrous roaring to which he had so often listened by Mitaine's Menagerie at home。
At first the hero feared he was dreaming； but in an instant further the roaring recommenced more distinct； although yet remote； and this time the camel's hump shivered in terror； and made the tinned meats and arms in the cases rattle； whilst all the dogs in the camps were heard howling in every corner of the horizon。
Beyond doubt this was the lion。
Quick； quick！ to the ambush。 There was not a minute to lose。
Near at hand there happened to be an old marabout's； or saint's； tomb； with a white cupola； and the defunct's large yellow slippers placed in a niche over the door； and a mass of odd offerings hems of blankets； gold thread； red hair hung on the wall。
Tartarin of Tarascon left his prince and his camel and went in search of a good spot for lying in wait。 Prince Gregory wanted to follow him； but the Tarasconian refused； bent on confronting Leo alone。 But still he besought His Highness not to go too far away； and； as a measure of foresight； he entrusted him with his pocket… book； a good…sized one； full of precious papers and bank…notes； which he feared would get torn by the lion's claws。 This done； our hero looked up a good place。
A hundred steps in front of the temple a little clump of rose…laurel shook in the twilight haze on the edge of a rivulet all but dried up。 There it was that Tartarin went and ensconced himself； one knee on the ground； according to the regular rule； his rifle in his hand； and his huge hunting…knife stuck boldly before him in the sandy bank。
Night fell。
The rosy tint of nature changed into violet； and then into dark blue。 A petty pool of clear water gleamed like a hand…glass over the river…pebbles； this was the watering…place of the wild animals。
On the other slope the whitish trail was dimly to be discerned which their heavy paws had traced in the brush a mysterious path which made one's flesh creep。 Join to this sensation that from the vague swarming sound in African forests； the swishing of branches； the velvety…pads of roving creatures； the jackal's shrill yelp； and up in the sky； two or three hundred feet aloft； vast flocks of cranes passing on with screams like poor little children having their weasands slit。 You will own that there were grounds for a man being moved。
Tartarin was so； and even more than that； for the poor fellow's teeth chattered； and on the cross…bar of his hunting…knife； planted upright in the bank； as we repeat； his rifle…barrel rattled like a pair of castanets。 Do not ask too much of a man！ There are times when one is not in the mood； and； moreover； where would be the merit if heroes were never afraid？
Well； yes； Tartarin was afraid； and all the time； too； for the matter of that。 Nevertheless； he held out for an hour； better； for two； but heroism has its limits。 Nigh him； in the dry part of the rivulet…bed； the Tarasconian unexpectedly heard the sound of steps and of pebbles rolling。 This time terror lifted him off the ground。 He banged away both barrels at haphazard into the night； and retreated as fast as his legs would carry him to the marabout's chapel…vault； leaving his knife standing up in the sand like a cross commemorative of the grandest panic that ever assailed the soul of a conqueror of hydras。
〃Help！ this Way； prance； the lion is on me！〃
There was silence。 〃Prance； prance； are you there？〃
The prince was not there。 On the white moonlit wall of the fane the camel alone cast the queer…shaped shadow of his protuberance。 Prince Gregory had cut and run with the wallet of bank…notes。 His Highness had been for the month past awaiting this opportunity。
VI。 Bagged him at Last。
IT was not until early on the morrow of this adventurous and dramatic eve that our hero awoke； and acquired assurance doubly sure that the prince and the treasure had really gone off； without any prospect of return。 When he saw himself alone in the little white tombhouse； betrayed； robbed； abandoned in the heart of savage Algeria； with a one…humped camel and some pocket…money as all his resources； then did the representative of Tarascon for the first time doubt。 He doubted Montenegro； friendship； glory； and even lions； and the great man blubbered bitterly。
Whilst he was pensively seated on the sill of the sanctuary； holding his head between his hands and his gun between his legs； with the camel mooning at him； the thicket over the way was divided； and the stupor…stricken Tartarin saw a gigantic lion appear not a dozen paces off。 It thrust out its high head and emitted powerful roars； which made the temple walls shake beneath their votive decorations； and even the saint's slippers dance in their niche。
The Tarasconian alone did not tremble。
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