On one side stood Tartarin, his legs planted firmly apart, his arms
resting on his rifle, on the other was the lion, a gigantic lion,
sprawling in the straw, blinking its eyes drowsily and resting its
enormous yellow-haired muzzle on its front paws... they regarded one
another calmly... then something odd happened. Perhaps it was the sight
of the rifle, perhaps it recognised an enemy of its kind, but the lion
which up until then had looked on the people of Tarascon with sovereign
disdain, yawning in their faces, seemed to feel a stirring of anger.
First it sniffed and uttered a rumbling growl, it stretched out its
forefeet and unsheathed its claws, then it got up, raised its head,
shook its mane, opened its huge maw and directed at Tartarin a most
ear-splitting roar.

This was greeted by a cry of terror. Tarascon, in panic, rushed for the
doors. Everyone, men, women, children, the hat shooters and even the
brave Commandant Bravida himself. Only Tartarin did not move... he
remained firm and resolute before the cage, a light shining in his eyes,
and wearing that grim expression which the town knew so well. After a
few moments, the hat shooters, somewhat reassured by his attitude and
the solidity of the cage bars, rejoined their chief, to hear him mutter
"Now that is something worth hunting." And that was all that he said.




Chapter 8.

Although at the memagerie he had said nothing more, he had already
said too much. The following day all the talk of the town was of the
impending departure of Tartarin for Africa, to shoot lions.