athing of chests; then a loud hurrah,
bravos, stamping of the feet, above which rose the gong of Excourbanies
uttering his war-cry "Ha! ha! ha! _fen de brut!_" to which the anxious
crowd without responded.

Costecalde, getting more and more yellow, tinkled the presidential
bell desperately. Bezuquet at last was allowed to continue, mopping his
forehead and puffing as if he had just mounted five pairs of stairs.

_Differemment_, the banner that their president requested in order to
plant it on virgin heights, should it be wrapped up, packed up, and sent
by express like an ordinary trunk?..

"Never!.. Ah! ah! ah!.." roared Excourbanies.

Would it not be better to appoint a delegation--draw lots for three
members of the committee?..

He was not allowed to finish. The time to say _zou!_ and Bezuquet's
proposition was voted by acclamation, and the names of three delegates
drawn in the following order: 1, Bravida; 2, Pegoulade; 3, the
apothecary.

No. 2, protested. The long journey frightened him, so feeble and ill as
he was, _pecherel_ ever since that terrible event of the "Medusa."

"I 'll go for you, Pegoulade," roared Excour-banies, telegraphing with
all his limbs. As for Bezuquet, he could not leave the pharmacy, the
safety of the town depended on him. One imprudence of the pupil, and all
Tarascon might be poisoned, decimated:

"_Outre!_" cried the whole committee, agreeing as one man.

Certainly the apothecary could not go himself, but he could send
Fascalon; Pascalon could take charge of the banner. That was his
business. Thereupon, fresh exclamations, further explosions of the gong,
and on the Promenade such a popular tempest that Excourbanies was forced
to show himself and address the crowd above its roarings, which his
matchless voice soon mastered.

"My friends, Tartarin is found. He is about to cover himself with
glory."

Without adding more than "Vive Tartarin!" and his war-cry, given
with all the force of his lungs, he stood for a moment enjoying the
tremendous clamour of the crowd below, rolling and hustling confusedly
in clouds of dust, while from the branches of the trees the grasshoppers
added their queer little rattle as if it were broad day.

Hearing all this, Costecalde, who had gone to a window with the rest,
returned, staggering, to his arm-chair.

"_Ve!_ Costecalde," said some one. "What's the matter with him?.. Look
how yellow he is!"

They sprang to him; already the terrible Tournat