a clear foot above his head), and descended to the street as stiffly as
though he had swallowed it. Not caring to ask the way of anybody,
from fear of letting out his project, he turned fairly to the right, and
threaded the Bab-Azoon arcade to the very end, where swarms of
Algerian Jews watched him pass from their corner ambushes like so
many spiders; crossing the Theatre place, he entered the outer
ward, and lastly came upon the dusty Mustapha highway.

Upon this was a quaint conglomeration: omnibuses, hackney
coaches, corricolos, the army service waggons, huge hay-carts
drawn by bullocks, squads of Chasseurs d'Afrique, droves of
microscopic asses, trucks of Alsatian emigrants, spahis in scarlet
cloaks -- all filed by in a whirlwind cloud of dust, amidst shouts,
songs, and trumpetcalls, between two rows of vile-looking booths,
at the doors of which lanky Mahonnais women might be seen doing
their hair, drinking-dens filled with soldiers, and shops of butchers
and knackers.

"What rubbish, to din me about the Orient!" grumbled the great
Tartarin; "there are not even as many Turks here as at Marseilles."

All of a sudden he saw a splendid camel strut by him quite closely,
stretching its long legs and puffing out its throat like a turkey-cock,
and that made his heart throb. Camels already, eh? Lions could not
be far Off now; and, indeed, in five minutes' time he did see a whole
band of lion-hunters coming his way under arms.

"Cowards!" thought our hero as he skirted them; "downright
cowards, to go at a lion in companies and with dogs!"