on was what he could see from a cell
window."

"He!... without a doubt.... Ah! My poor M. Tartarin, you have to keep both
eyes wide open in this devilish country if you don't want to be taken
in. Like that business of the Muezzin."

"What business?... What Muezzin?"

"Ti!... Pardi!" The Muezzin opposite, who was courting Baia; all Algiers
knew about it. Not all the prayers he was chanting were addressed
to Allah, some were directed to the little one, and he was making
propositions under your nose. "It seems that everyone in this beastly
country is a crook", Wailed the unhappy Tartarin. Barbassou shrugged his
shoulders, "My dear fellow, you know how it is. All these sort of places
are the same. If you take my advice you will go back to Tarascon as
quickly as possible."

"That's easy to say, but what am I to do for money? Don't you know how
they robbed me out there in the desert?"

"Don't worry about that," laughed the Captain, "the Zouave is leaving
tomorrow and I'll take you back if you want... does that suit you,
colleague?... All right... Good! There's only one thing left to do, there
is still some champagne and some pastries left. Come, sit down and let
bygones be bygones." After a little delay which his dignity required,
our hero accepted the offer. They sat down and poured out a drink.
Hearing the clink of glasses, Baia came down and finished singing Marco
la Belle, and the party went on until late in the night.

Chapter 30.

It is mid-day. The Zouave has steam up and is ready to depart. Up
above on the balcony of the cafe Valentin, a group of officers aim the
telescope, and come one by one, in order of seniority, to look at
the lucky little ship which is going to France. It is the principle
entertainment of the general staff. Down below, the water of the
anchorage sparkles.... The breeches of the old Turkish cannons, mounted
along the quay, glisten in the sunshine.... Passengers arrive.... Baggage
is loaded onto tenders.

Tartarin does not have any baggage. He comes down from the Rue de
la Marine by the little market, full of bananas and water-melons,
accompanied by his friend Captain Barbassou.

Tartarin de Tarascon has left on the Moorish shore his arms, his
equipment and his illusions, and is preparing to sail back to Tarascon
with nothing in his pockets but his hands. Scarcely, however, had he set
foot in the captain's launch, when a breathless creature scrambled down
from the square above an