lion's pit was crowded with people. For three days the grand lion had
been deprived of food in order that he might be the more ferocious and
terrible. His eyes shone like two balls of fire, and he incessantly
lashed his flanks with his tail. At one moment he would madly roar,
and, in the next, rub himself against the wall, vainly trying to find a
chink between the stones in which to insert his claws.

Precisely at the appointed hour, the princely Bey and his court took
the places that had been reserved for them on one side of the terrace.
The Sicilian came a few steps behind, dressed in his costume of velvet
and silver, and holding his club in his hand. With his accustomed easy
and regular step, and a naturally elegant and dignified bearing, he
advanced in front of the royal party and made a low obeisance to the
Bey. The prince made some remark to him, to which he responded with a
fresh salute; then he withdrew, and descended the steps which led to
the lion's pit.

The crowd was silent. At the end of some seconds, the barred gate of
the pit was opened, and gave entrance, not to the brave and powerful
Hercules, but to a poor dog that was thrown toward the ferocious beast
with the intention of still more exciting its ravenous appetite. This
unexpected act of cruelty drew hisses from the spectators, but they
were soon absorbed in watching the behavior of the dog. When the lion
saw the prey that had been thrown to him, he stood motionless for a
moment, ceased to beat his flanks with his tail, growled deeply, and
crouched on the ground, with his paws extended, his neck stretched out,
and his eyes fixed upon the victim.

The dog, on being thrown into the pit, ran at once toward a corner of
the wall, as far as possible from the lion, and, trembling, yet not