When the unhappy man tried to explain how he had mistaken her little
donkey for a lion, she thought he was making fun of her, and belaboured
him with her umbrella. When her husband came on the scene the matter was
soon adjusted by Tartarin agreeing to pay eight pounds for the damage he
had done, the price of the donkey being really something like eight
shillings. The donkey owner was an inn-keeper, and the sight of
Tartarin's money made him quite friendly. He invited the lion-hunter to
have some food at the inn with him before he left. And as they walked
thither he was amazed to be told by the inn-keeper that he had never
seen a lion there in twenty years!

Clearly, the lions were to be looked for further south. "I'll make
tracks for the south, too," said Tartarin to himself. But he first of
all returned to his hotel in an omnibus. Think of it! But before he was
to go south on the high adventure, he loafed about the city of Algiers
for some time, going to the theatres and other places of amusement,
where he met Prince Gregory of Montenegro, with whom he made friends.

One day the captain of the Zouave came across him in the town, and
showed him a note about himself in a Tarascon newspaper. This spoke of
the uncertainty that prevailed as to the fate of the great hunter, and
wound up with these words:

"Some Negro traders state, however, that they met in the open desert a
European whose description answers to that of Tartarin, and who was
making tracks for Timbuctoo. May Heaven guard for us our hero!"

Tartarin went red and white by turns as he read this, and realised that
he was in for it. He very much wished to return to his beloved Tarascon,
but to go there without having shot some lions--one at least--was