What a humiliating home-coming! All his weapons of the chase left on
Moorish soil, not a lion with him, nothing but a silly camel!

"Tarascon! Tarascon!" shout the porters as the train slows up at the
station, and the hero gets out. He had hoped to slink home unobserved;
but, to his amazement, he is received with shouts of "Long live
Tartarin!" "Three cheers for the lion-slayer!" The people are waving
their caps in the air; it is no joke, they are serious. There is Major
Bravida, and there the more noteworthy cap-hunters, who cluster round
their chief and carry him in triumph down the stairs.

Now, all this was the result of sending home the skin of the blind lion.
But the climax was reached when, following the crowd down the stairs of
the station, limping from his long run, came the camel. Even this
Tartarin turned to good account. He reassured his fellow-citizens,
patting the camel's hump.

"This is my camel; a noble beast! It has seen me kill all my lions."

And so, linking his arm with the worthy major, he calmly wended his way
to Baobab Villa, amid the ringing cheers of the populace. On the road he
began a recital of his hunts.

"Picture to yourself," he said, "a certain evening in the open
Sahara----"

* * * * *