tartarin of tarascon-第16章
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sieur not the ghost of a road at all。 We get along as best we can over hill and dale； over dwarf palms and mastic…trees。 Ne'er a fixed change of horses； the stopping being at the whim of the guard； now at one farm； again at another。
〃Somewhiles this rogue goes a couple of leagues out of the way to have a glass of absinthe or champoreau with a chum。 After which； 'Crack on； postillion！' to make up for the lost time。 Though the sun be broiling and the dust scorching； we whip on！ We catch in the scrub and spill over； but whip on！ We swim rivers； we catch cold； we get swamped； we drown； but whip！ whip！ whip！ Then in the evening； streaming a nice thing for my age； with my rheumatics I have to sleep in the open air of some caravanseral yard； open to all the winds。 In the dead o' night jackals and hyaenas come sniffing of my body； and the marauders who don't like dews get into my compartment to keep warm。
〃Such is the life I lead； my poor Monsieur Tartarin； and that I shall lead to the day when burnt up by the sun and rotted by the damp nights until unable to do anything else…I shall fall in some spot of bad road； where the Arabs will boil their kouskous with the bones of my old carcass〃
〃Blidah！ Blidah！〃 called out the guard as he opened the door。
II。 A little gentleman drops in and 〃drops upon〃 Tartarin。
VAGUELY through the mud…dimmed glass Tartarin of Tarascon caught a glimpse of a second…rate but pretty town market…place； regular in shape； surrounded by colonnades and planted with orange…trees； in the midst of which what seemed toy leaden soldiers were going through the morning exercise in the clear roseate mist。 The cafes were shedding their shutters。 In one corner there was a vegetable market。 It was bewitching； but it did not smack of lions yet。
〃To the South！ farther to the South！〃 muttered the good old desperado； sinking back in his corner。
At this moment the door opened。 A puff of fresh air rushed in； bearing upon its wings； in the perfume of the orange…blossoms； a little person in a brown frock…coat； old and dry； wrinkled and formal； his face no bigger than your fist； his neckcloth of black silk five fingers wide； a notary's letter…case； and umbrella the very picture of a village solicitor。
On perceiving the Tarasconian's warlike equipment； the little gentleman； who was seated over against him； appeared excessively surprised； and set to studying him with burdensome persistency。
The horses were taken out and the fresh ones put in； whereupon the coach started off again。 The little weasel still gazed at Tartarin； who in the end took snuff at it。
〃Does this astonish you？〃 he demanded； staring the little gentleman full in the face in his turn。
〃Oh； dear； no！ it only annoys me；〃 responded the other； very tranquilly。
And the fact is； that； with his shelter…tent； revolvers； pair of guns in their cases； and hunting…knife； not to speak of his natural corpulence； Tartarin of Tarascon did take up a lot of room。
The little gentleman's reply angered him。
〃Do you by any chance fancy that I am going lion…hunting with your umbrella？〃 queried the great man haughtily。
The little man looked at his umbrella； smiled blandly； and still with the same lack of emotion； inquired：
〃Oho； then you are Monsieur〃
〃Tartarin of Tarascon； lion…killer！〃
In uttering these words the dauntless son of Tarascon shook the blue tassel of his fez like a mane。
Through the vehicle was a spell of stupefaction。
The Trappist brother crossed himself； the dubious women uttered little screams of affright； and the Orleansville photographer bent over towards the lion…slayer； already cherishing the unequalled honour of taking his likeness。
The little gentleman； though； was not awed。
〃Do you mean to say that you have killed many lions； Monsieur Tartarin？〃 he asked； very quietly。
The Tarasconian received his charge in the handsomest manner。
〃Is it many have I killed； Monsieur？ I wish you had only as many hairs on your head as I have killed of them。〃
All the coach laughed on observing three yellow bristles standing up on the little gentleman's skull。
In his turn； the Orleansville photographer struck in：
〃Yours must he a terrible profession； Monsieur Tartarin。 You must pass some ugly moments sometimes。 I have heard that poor Monsieur Bombonnel〃 〃Oh； yes； the panther…killer；〃 said Tartarin； rather disdainfully。
〃Do you happen to be acquainted with him？〃 inquired the insignificant person。
〃Eh！ of course！ Know him？ Why； we have been out on the hunt over twenty times together。〃
The little gentleman smiled。
〃So you also hunt panthers； Monsieur Tartarin？〃 he asked。
〃Sometimes； just for pastime；〃 said the fiery Tarasconian。 〃But；〃 he added； as he tossed his head with a heroic movement that inflamed the heart of the two sweethearts of。 the regiment； 〃that's not worth lion…hunting。〃
〃When all's said and done；〃 ventured the photographer； 〃a panther is nothing but a big cat。〃
〃Right you are！〃 said Tartarin； not sorry to abate the celebrated Bombonnel's glory a little； particularly in the presence of ladies。
Here the coach stopped。 The conductor came to open the door； and addressed the insignificant little gentleman most respect… fully； saying：
〃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。
Two days' rough jolting； two nights spent with eyes open to spy out of window if there were not discoverable the dread figure of a lion in the fields beyond the road so much sleeplessness well deserved some hours repose。 Besides； if we must tell everything； since his misadventure with Bombonnel； the outspoken Tartarin felt ill at ease； notwithstanding his weapons； his terrifying visage； and his red cap； before the Orleansville photographer and the two ladies fond of the military。
So he proceeded through the broad streets of Milianah； full of fine trees and fountains； but whilst looking up a suitable hotel； the poor fellow could not help musing over Bombonnel's words。 Suppose they were true！ Suppose there were no more lions in Algeria？ What would be the good then of so much running about and fatigue？
Suddenly； at the turn of a street； our hero found himself face to face with with what？ Guess！ 〃A donkey； of course！〃 A donkey？ A splendid lion this time； waiting before a coffee…house door； royally sitting up on his hind…quarters； with his tawny mane gleaming in the sun。
〃What possessed them to tell me that there were no more of them？〃 exclaimed the Tarasconian； as he made a backward jump。
On hearing this outcry the lion lowered his head； and taking up in his mouth a wooden bowl that was before him on the footway； humbly held it out towards Tartarin； who was immovable with stupefaction。 A passing Arab tossed a copper into the bowl； and the lion wagged his tail。 Thereupon Tartarin understood it all。 He saw what emotion had prevented him previously perceiving： that the crowd was gathered around a poor tame blind lion； and that two stalwart Negroes； armed with staves； were marching him through the town as a Savoyard does a marmot。
The blood of Tarascon boiled over at once。
〃Wretches that you are！〃 he roared in a voice of
