e danger, and were about to flee. But
the proud bearing of the great man reassured them, and Tartarin
continued his round of the booth until he faced the lion from the Atlas
Mountains.

Here he stood carefully studying the creature, who sniffed and growled
in surly temper, and then, rising, shook his mane and gave vent to a
terrible, roar, directed full at Tartarin.

Tartarin alone stood his ground, stern and immovable, in front of the
cage, and the valiant cap-hunters, somewhat reassured by his bravery,
again drew near and heard him murmur, as he gazed on the lion, "Ah, yes,
there's a hunt for you!"

Not another word did Tartarin utter that day. Yet next day nothing was
spoken about in the town but his intention to be off to Algeria to hunt
the lions of the Atlas Mountains. When asked if this were true his pride
would not let him deny it, and he pretended that it might be true. So
the notion grew, until that night at his club Tartarin announced, amid
tremendous cheering, that he was sick of cap-hunting, and meant very
soon to set forth in pursuit of the lions of the Atlas.

Now began a great struggle between the two Tartarins. While the one was
strongly in favour of the adventure, the other was strongly opposed to
leaving his snug little Baobab Villa and the safety of Tarascon. But he
had let himself in for this, and felt he would have to see it through.
So he began reading up the books of African travel, and found from these
how some of the explorers had trained themselves for the work by
enduring hunger, thirst, and other privations before they set out.
Tartarin began cutting down his food, taking very watery soup. Early in
the morning, too, he walked round the town seven or eight times, and at
nights he would stay in the garden from ten till eleven o'clock, alone
with his gun, to inure himself to night chills; while, so long as the
menagerie remained in Tarascon, a strange figure might have been seen in
the dark, prowling around the tent, listening to the growling of the
lion. This was Tartarin, accustoming himself to be calm when the king of
beasts was raging.

The feeling began to grow, however, that the hero was shirking. He
showed no haste to be off. At length, one night Major Bravida went to
Baobab Villa and said very solemnly, "Tartarin, you must go!"

It was a terrible moment for Tartarin, but he realised the solemnity of
the words, and, looking around his cosy little den with a moist eye, he
replied a