The Boniface burst out in laughter.
“Ho, ho! bless us! lions! What would we do with lions here?”
“Are there, then, none in Algeria?”
“‘Pon my faith, I never saw any, albeit I have been twenty years in the colony. Still, I believe I have heard tell of such a thing—leastwise, I fancy the newspapers said—but that is ever so much farther inland—down South, you know”—
At this point they reached the hostelry, a suburban pothouse, with a withered green bough over the door, crossed billiard-cues painted on the wall, and this harmless sign over a picture of wild rabbits, feeding:
“GAME FELLOWS MEET HERE.”
“Game fellows!” It made Tartarin think of Captain Bravida.
VII. About an Omnibus, a Moorish Beauty, and a Wreath of Jessamine.
COMMON people would have been discouraged by such a first adventure, but men of Tartarin’s mettle do not easily get cast down.
“The lions are in the South, are they?” mused the hero. “Very well, then. South I go.”