n their faces, seemed to feel a stirring of anger.
First it sniffed and uttered a rumbling growl, it stretched out its
forefeet and unsheathed its claws, then it got up, raised its head,
shook its mane, opened its huge maw and directed at Tartarin a most
ear-splitting roar.

This was greeted by a cry of terror. Tarascon, in panic, rushed for the
doors. Everyone, men, women, children, the hat shooters and even the
brave Commandant Bravida himself. Only Tartarin did not move... he
remained firm and resolute before the cage, a light shining in his eyes,
and wearing that grim expression which the town knew so well. After a
few moments, the hat shooters, somewhat reassured by his attitude and
the solidity of the cage bars, rejoined their chief, to hear him mutter
"Now that is something worth hunting." And that was all that he said.

Chapter 8.

Although at the memagerie he had said nothing more, he had already
said too much. The following day all the talk of the town was of the
impending departure of Tartarin for Africa, to shoot lions.

You will bear witness that the good fellow had not breathed a word
of this, but you know how it is... the mirage.... In short the whole of
Tarascon could talk of nothing else.

On the pavement, at the club, at Costecalde's shop, people accosted one
another with an air of excitement.

"Et autrement, have you heard the latest, au moins?"

"Et autrement, what now, is Tartarin going, au moins?" For in Tarascon
every remark begins with "Et autrement" which is pronounced "autremain"
and ends with "au moins" which is pronounced "au mouain" and in these
days the sound of "autremain" and "au mouain" was enough to rattle the
windows.

The most surprised person in the town to hear that he was leaving for
Africa was Tartarin, but now see the effects of vanity. Instead of
replying that he was not going and had never intended to go, poor
Tartarin, on the first occasion that the subject was broached adopted a
somewhat evasive air, "He!... He!... perhaps... I can't say." On the
second occasion, now a little more accustomed to the idea, he replied
"Probably" and on the third "Yes, definitely."

Eventually, one evening at the club, carried away by some glasses of
egg-nog, the public interest and the plaudits, he declared formally that
he was tired of shooting at hats and was going shortly in pursuit of the
great lions of Africa.

A loud cheer greeted this declaration, then came more egg-nog,