o the
tavern, brought him again to his feet, ears straining and nostrils
scenting powder.

"Who fired?.. where is it?.. what is happening?.."

In his inventive noddle a whole drama was already defiling; attack on
the convoy by armed bands; opportunity given him to defend the honour
and life of that charming young lady. But no! the discharges only came
from the Stand, where the youths of the village practise at a mark
every Sunday. As the horses were not yet harnessed, Tartarin, as if
carelessly, proposed to go and look at them. He had his idea, and Sonia
had hers in accepting the proposal. Guided by the old soldier of Charles
X. wobbling under his shako, they crossed the market-place, opening the
ranks of the crowd, who followed them with curiosity.

Beneath its thatched roof and its square uprights of pine wood the
Stand resembled one of our own pistol-galleries at a fair, with this
difference, that the amateurs brought their own weapons, breech-loading
muskets of the oldest pattern, which they managed, however, with some
adroitness. Tar-tarin, his arms crossed, observed the shots, criticised
them aloud, gave his advice, but did not fire himself. The Russians
watched him, making signs to each other.

"Pan!.. pan!.." sneered Bolibine, making the gesture of taking aim
and mimicking Tartarin's accent. Tartarin turned round very red, and
swelling with anger.

"_Parfaitemain_, young man... Pan!.. pan!.. and as often as you like."

The time to load an old double-barrelled carbine which must have served
several generations of chamois hunters, and--pan!.. pan!.. T is done.
Both balls are in the bull's-eye. Hurrahs of admiration burst forth on
all sides. Sonia triumphed. Bolibine laughed no more.

"But that is nothing, that!" said Tartarin; "you shall see..."

The Stand did not suffice him; he looked about for another target,
and the crowd recoiled alarmed from this strange Alpinist, thick-set,
savage-looking and carbine in hand, when they heard him propose to the
old guard of Charles X. to break his pipe between his teeth at fifty
paces. The old fellow howled in terror and plunged into the crowd, his
trembling plume remaining visible above their serried heads. None the
less, Tartarin felt that he must put it somewhere, that ball. "_Te!
pardi!_ as we did at Tarascon!.." And the former cap-hunter pitched his
headgear high into the air with all the strength of his double muscles,
shot it on the fly, and pierced it. "Brav