minaret platform.

In the distance the sea shone. The white roofs glittered in the
moonbeams. On the sea breeze was heard the strumming of a few belated
guitars. The Tarasconian muezzin gathered himself up for the effort
during a space, and then, raising his arms, he set to chanting in a very
shrill voice:

"La Allah il Allah! Mahomet is an old humbug! The Orient, the Koran,
bashaws, lions, Moorish beauties--they are all not worth a fly's skip!
There is nothing left but gammoners. Long live Tarascon!"

Whilst the illustrious Tartarin, in his queer jumbling of Arabic and
Provencal, flung his mirthful maledictions to the four quarters, sea,
town, plain and mountain, the clear, solemn voices of the other muezzins
answered him, taking up the strain from minaret to minaret, and the
believers of the upper town devoutly beat their bosoms.

VIII. Tarascon again!

MID-DAY has come.

The Zouave had her steam up, ready to go. Upon the balcony of the
Valentin Cafe, high above, the officers were levelling telescopes, and,
with the colonel at their head, looking at the lucky little craft that
was going back to France. This is the main distraction of the staff. On
the lower level, the roads glittered. The old Turkish cannon breaches,
stuck up along the waterside, blazed in the sun. The passengers hurried,
Biskris and Mahonnais piled their luggage up in the wherries.

Tartarin of Tarascon had no luggage. Here he comes down the Rue de
la Marine through the little market, full of bananas and melons,
accompanied by his friend Barbassou. The hapless Tarasconian left on the
Moorish strand his gun-cases and his illusions, and now he had to sail
for Tarascon with his hands in his otherwise empty pockets. He had
barely leaped into the captain's cutter before a breathless beast slid
down from the heights of the square and galloped towards him. It was the
faithful camel, who had been hunting after his master in Algiers during
the last four-and-twenty hours.

On seeing him, Tartarin changed countenance, and feigned not to know
him, but the camel was not going to be put off. He scampered along the
quay; he whinnied for his friend, and regarded him with affection.

"Take me away," his sad eyes seemed to say, "take me away in your ship,
far, far from this sham Arabia, this ridiculous Land of the East, full
of locomotives and stage coaches, where a camel is so sorely out of
keeping that I do not know what will become of me. You are the