savage animals. In the faint light
from the stars their shadows spread over the ground in all directions.
On the right was the confused, looming mass of a mountain, the Atlas
perhaps, to the left could be heard the dull surge of the invisible sea.
An ideal spot to tempt wild animals!

Placing one rifle on the ground before him and taking the other in his
hands, Tartarin settled down and waited... he waited for an hour... two
hours.... Then he remembered that in his books the famous lion hunters
always used a kid as bait, which they tethered at some distance in front
of them and made to bleat by pulling on a string attached to its leg.
Lacking a kid, he had the idea of trying an imitation and began to bleat
in a goat-like manner, "Me!... Me!...." At first very quietly, because, in
the depths of his heart he was a little afraid that the lion might
hear him... then seeing that nothing happened he bleated more loudly,
"Me!... Me!... Me!...." And then louder still, "ME!... ME!... ME!..."

Suddenly, a few paces in front of him, something black and gigantic
materialised. He shut up... the thing crouched, sniffed the ground,
leapt up, turned and ran off at a gallop... then it came back and stopped
short. It was a lion! There could be no doubt. Now one could see quite
clearly the four short legs, the formidable forequarters and two
huge eyes gleaming in the darkness.... Aim!... Fire!...
Pan!... Pan!.... Tartarin backed away, drawing his hunting knife

Following Tartarin's shot there was a terrible outcry, "I've got him!"
Cried the good Tarasconais and prepared himself to receive a possible
attack, but the creature had had enough and it fled at top speed,
bellowing.... He, however, did not budge: he was waiting for the
female... as happened in all his books. Unfortunately the female failed
to turn up, and after two or three hours of waiting Tartarin became
tired. The ground was damp, the night was growing cool, there was a nip
in the breeze from the sea... "Perhaps I should have a nap while I wait
for daylight" he said to himself, and to provide some shelter he had
recourse to the bivouac tent. A difficulty now arose, the bivouac tent
was of such an ingenious design that he was quite unable to erect it. He
struggled and sweated for a long time, but there was no way in which he
could get the thing up, so at last he threw it on the ground and lay on
top of it, cursing it in Provencal.

Ta!... Ta!... Ta!... Tarata! "Ques aco?" s