assure himself that his latchkey was
there, and also the American tomahawk, without which no Tarasconese
whatsoever would risk himself in the streets after "taps." Then he
called: "Pascalon!.. Pascalon!.." but not too loudly, for fear of waking
the old lady.

Almost a child, though bald, wearing all his hair in his curly blond
beard, Pascalon the pupil had the ardent soul of a partizan, a dome-like
forehead, the eyes of crazy goat, and on his chubby cheeks the delicate
tints of a shiny crusty Beaucaire roll. On all the grand Alpine
excursions it was to him that the Club entrusted its banner, and
his childish soul had vowed to the P. C. A. a fanatical worship, the
burning, silent adoration of a taper consuming itself before an altar in
the Easter season.

"Pascalon," said the apothecary in a low voice, and so close to him
that the bristle of his moustache pricked his ear. "I have news of
Tartarin... It is heart-breaking..."

Seeing him turn pale, he added:

"Courage, child! all can be repaired... _Differemment_ I confide to you
the pharmacy... If any one asks you for arsenic, don't give it; opium,
don't give that either, nor rhubarb... don't give anything. If I am not
in by ten o'clock, lock the door and go to bed."

With intrepid step, he plunged into the darkness, not once looking back,
which allowed Pascalon to spring at the waste-paper basket, turn it over
and over with feverish eager hands and finally tip out its contents on
the leather of the desk to see if no scrap remained of the mysterious
letter brought by the postman.

To those who know Tarasconese excitability, it is easy to imagine
the frantic condition of the little town after Tartarin's abrupt
disappearance. _Et autrement, pas moins, differemment_, they lost their
heads, all the more because it was the middle of August and their brains
boiled in the sun till their skulls were fit to crack. From morning till
night they talked of nothing else; that one name "Tartarin" alone was
heard on the pinched lips of the elderly ladies in hoods, in the rosy
mouths of grisettes, their hair tied up with velvet ribbons:

"Tartarin, Tartarin..." Even among the plane-trees on the Promenade,
heavy with white dust, distracted grasshoppers, vibrating in the
sunlight, seemed to strangle with those two sonorous syllables: "Tar..
tar.. tar.. tar.. tar..."

As no one knew anything, naturally every one was well-informed and gave
explanations of the departure of the presi