“We have arrived, Monsieur.”
The little gentleman got up, stepped out, and said, before the door was closed again:
“Will you allow me to give you a bit of advice, Monsieur Tartarin?”
“What is it, Monsieur?”
“Faith! you wear the look of a good sort of fellow, so I would, rather than not, let you have it. Get you back quickly to Tarascon, Monsieur Tartarin, for you are wasting your time here. There do remain a few panthers in the colony, but, out upon the big cats! they are too small game for you. As for lion-hunting, that’s all over. There are none left in Algeria, my friend Chassaing having lately knocked over the last.”
Upon which the little gentleman saluted, closed the door, and trotted away chuckling, with his document-wallet and umbrella.
“Guard,” asked Tartarin, screwing up his face contemptuously, “who under the sun is that poor little mannikin?”
“What! don’t you know him? Why, that there’s Monsieur Bombonnel!”
III. A Monastery of Lions.
AT Milianah, Tartarin of Tarascon alighted, leaving the stage-coach to continue its way towards the South.