him. In the meantime the little slipper continued its proceedings,
and the eyes, widely open opposite him like twin black velvet
flowers, seemed to say:

"Come, cull us!"

The 'bus stopped on the Theatre place, at the mouth of the Rue
Bab-Azoon. One by one, embedded in their voluminous trousers,
and drawing their mufflers around them with wild grace, the
Moorish women alighted. Tartarin's confrontatress was the last to
rise, and in doing so her countenance skimmed so closely to our
hero's that her breath enveloped him -- a veritable nosegay of youth
and freshness, with an indescribable after-tang of musk, jessamine,
and pastry.

The Tarasconian stood out no longer. Intoxicated with love, and
ready for anything, he darted out after the beauty. At the rumpling
sound of his belts and boots she turned, laid a finger on her veiled
mouth, as one who would say, "Hush!" and with the other hand quickly
tossed him a little wreath of sweet-scented jessamine flowers.
Tartarin of Tarascon stooped to pick it up; but as he was rather
clumsy, and much overburdened with implements of war, the
operation took rather long. When he did straighten up, with the
jessamine garland upon his heart, the donatrix had vanished.



VIII.
Ye Lions of the Atlas, repose in peace!