Tarascon went down on one knee and waited an hour, ay, a good
couple, and nothing turned up. Then he bethought him how, in his
books, the great lion-slayers never went out hunting without having
a lamb or a kid along with them, which they tied up a space before
them, and set bleating or baa-ing by jerking its foot with a string.
Not having any goat, the Tarasconer had the idea of employing an
imitation, and he set to crying in a tremulous voice:

"Baa-a-a!"

At first it was done very softly, because at bottom he was a little
alarmed lest the lion should hear him; but as nothing came, he baa-
ed more loudly. Still nothing. Losing patience, he resumed many
times running at the top of his voice, till the "Baa, baa, baa!" came
out with so much power that the goat began to be mistakable for a
bull.

Unexpectedly, a few steps in front, some gigantic black thing
appeared. He was hushed. This thing lowered its head, sniffed the
ground, bounded up, rolled over, and darted off at the gallop, but
returned and stopped short. Who could doubt it was the lion? for
now its four short legs could plainly be seen, its formidable mane
and its large eyes gleaming in the gloom.

Up went his gun into position. Fire's the word! and bang, bang! it
was done. And immediately there was a leap back and the drawing
of the hunting-knife. To the Tarasconian's shot a terrible roaring
replied.

"He's got it!" cried our good Tartarin as, steadying himself on his