hateau, a figure pacing up and down behind
the cages... it was Tartarin training himself to listen unmoved to the
roaring of lions in the African night.

Chapter 9.

While Tartarin was preparing himself by these strenuous methods, all
Tarascon had its eyes on him. Nothing else was of interest. Hat shooting
was abandoned, the ballads languished; in Bezuquet the chemist's the
piano was silent beneath a green dust cover, with cantharides flies
drying, belly up, on the top... Tartarin's expedition had brought
everything to a halt.

You should have seen the success of our hero in the drawing-rooms. He
was seized, squabbled over, borrowed and stolen. There was no greater
triumph for the ladies than to go, on the arm of Tartarin, to the
menagerie Mitaine and to have him explain, in front of the lion's cage,
how one goes about hunting these great beasts, at what point one
aims and at what distance, whether there are many accidents, and so
on... through his reading Tartarin had gained almost as much knowledge
about lion hunting as if he had actually engaged in it himself, and so
he spoke of these matters with much authority.

Where Tartarin really excelled, however, was after dinner at the home of
president Ladeveze or the brave Commandant Bravida (quartermaster. Ret)
when coffee had been served and the chairs pulled together, then with
his elbow on the table, between sips of his coffee, our hero gave a
moving description of all the dangers which awaited him "Over there"
He spoke of long moonless watches, of pestilential marshes, of rivers
poisoned by the leaves of oleanders, of snows, scorching suns, scorpions
and clouds of locusts; he also spoke of the habits of the great lions
of the Atlas, their phenomenal strength, their ferocity in the mating
season.... Then, carried away by his own words, he would rise from the
table and bound into the middle of the room, imitating the roar of the
lion, the noise of the rifle "Pan! Pan!" The whistle of the bullet.
Gesticulating, shouting, knocking over chairs... while at the table faces
are grave, the men looking at one another and nodding their heads, the
ladies closing their eyes with little cries of alarm. A grandfather
brandishes his walking-stick in a bellicose manner and, in the next
room, the small children who have been put to bed earlier are startled
out of their sleep by the banging and bellowing, and greatly frightened
demand lights.

Tartarin, however, showed no si