the throng started and trembled. The articles were named in a loud
voice:

"That there's the shelter-tent; these the potted meats; that's the
physic-chest; these the gun-cases," -- the cap-poppers giving
explanations.

All of a sudden, about ten o'clock, there was a great stir in the
multitude, for the garden gate banged open.

"Here he is! here he is!" they shouted.

It was he indeed. When he appeared upon the threshold, two
outcries of stupefaction burst from the assemblage:

"He's a Turk!" "He's got on spectacles!"

In truth, Tartarin of Tarascon had deemed it his duty, on going to
Algeria, to don the Algerian costume. Full white linen trousers,
small tight vest with metal buttons, a red sash two feet wide around
the waist, the neck bare and the forehead shaven, and a vast red fez,
or chechia, on his head, with something like a long blue tassel
thereto. Together with this, two heavy guns, one on each shoulder,
a broad hunting-knife in the girdle, a bandolier across the breast, a
revolver on the hip, swinging in its patent leather case -- that is all.
No, I cry your pardon, I was forgetting the spectacles -- a
pantomimically large pair of azure barnacles, which came in partly to
temper what was rather too fierce in the bearing of our hero.

"Long life to Tartarin! hip, hip, hurrah for Tartarin!" roared the