jackass Schwan-thaler, the ineptissimus
Astier-Rehu, the member of the Jockey-Club with his niece (h'm! h'm!..)
and all the travellers on Cook's Circular. Ashamed, dreading to be
recognized, the unfortunate man concealed himself behind pillars,
getting farther and farther away as the troop of tourists advanced,
preceded by the concierge and his homily, delivered in a doleful voice:
"Here is where the unfortunate Bonnivard, etc..."

They advanced slowly, retarded by discussions between the two _savants_,
quarrelling as usual and ready to jump at each other's throats; the
one waving his campstool, the other his travelling-bag in fantastic
attitudes, which the twilight from the window-slits lengthened upon the
vaulted roof.

By dint of retreating, Tartarin presently found himself close to the
hole of the pit, a black pit open to the level of the soil, emitting the
breath of ages, malarious and glacial. Frightened, he stopped short,
and curled himself into a corner, his cap over his eyes. But the damp
saltpetre of the walls affected him, and suddenly a stentorian sneeze,
which made the tourists recoil, gave notice of his presence.

"_Tiens_, there's Bonnivard!.." cried the bold little Parisian woman
in a Directory hat whom the gentleman from the Jockey-Club called his
niece.

The Tarasconese hero did not allow himself to be disconcerted.

"They are really very curious, these pits," he said, in the most natural
tone in the world, as if he was visiting the dungeon, like them, for
pleasure; and so saying, he mingled with the other travellers,
who smiled at recognizing the Alpinist of the Rigi-Kulm, the merry
instigator of the famous ball.

"_Hi!_ mossie... ballir... dantsir!.."

The comical silhouette of the little fairy Schwan-thaler rose up before
him ready to seize him for a country dance. A fine mood he was in now
for dancing! But not knowing how to rid himself of that determined
little scrap of a woman, he offered his arm and gallantly showed her
his dungeon, the ring to which the captive was chained, the trace of his
steps on the stone round that pillar; and never, hearing him converse
with such ease, did the good lady even dream that he too was a prisoner
of state, a victim of the injustice and the wickedness of men. Terrible,
however, was the departure, when the unfortunate Bonnivard, having
conducted his partner to the door, took leave of her with the smile of a
man of the world: "No, thank you, _ve!_.. I stay