on the bugle, was the Templar Knight preparing for a sortie upon
the infidel, the Chinese tiger equipping himself for combat, or the
Comanche warrior painting up for going on the war-path. "All
hands make ready for action!" as the men-of-war's men say.

In his left hand Tartarin took a steel-pointed knuckle-duster; in the
right he carried a sword-cane; in his left pocket a life-preserver; in
the right a revolver. On his chest, betwixt outer and under
garment, lay a Malay kreese. But never any poisoned arrows -- they
are weapons altogether too unfair.

Before starting, in the silence and obscurity of his study, he
exercised himself for a while, warding off imaginary cuts and
thrusts, lunging at the wall, and giving his muscles play; then he
took his master-key and went through the garden leisurely; without
hurrying, mark you. "Cool and calm -- British courage, that is the
true sort, gentlemen." At the garden end he opened the heavy iron
door, violently and abruptly so that it should slam against the outer
wall. If "they" had been skulking behind it, you may wager they
would have been jam. Unhappily, they were not there.

The way being open, out Tartarin would sally, quickly glancing to
the right and left, ere banging the door to and fastening it smartly
with double-locking. Then, on the way.

Not so much as a cat upon the Avignon road -- all the doors closed,
and no lights in the casements. All was black, except for the parish
lamps, well spaced apart, blinking in the river mist.

Calm and proud, Tartarin of Tarascon marched on in the night,