Here was a fantastic confusion of traffic. There were coaches, cabs,
curricles, military supply wagons, great carts of hay drawn by oxen,
some squadrons of Chasseurs d'Afrique, troops of microscopic little
donkeys, negresses selling galettes, loads of emigrants from Alsasce,
some Spahis in red cloaks. All passing in a great cloud of dust, with
cries, songs and trumpet calls, between two rows of miserable shacks,
where could be seen prostitutes applying their make-up at their doors,
tap-rooms full of soldiers and the stalls of butchers and slaughtermen.
The tales I have been told about this place are quite untrue, thought
Tartarin, there are fewer "Teurs" here than there are in Marseille.

Suddenly he saw striding past him, long-legged and proud as a turkey
cock, a magnificent camel. The sight quickened his pulse; where there
were camels lions could not be far away, and indeed within five minutes
he saw coming towards him with guns on their shoulders, a whole company
of lion hunters with their dogs.

A cowardly lot, thought Tartarin, as he came alongside them... hunting
lions in a group and with dogs... for it had never occurred to him that
In Algeria one could hunt anything but lions. However these hunters
looked like comfortably retired businessmen, and Tartarin, curious about
this way of hunting lions with dogs and game-bags, took it on himself to
address one of them.

"Et autrement, my friend, a good day?"

"Not bad" Replied the other, looking with some surprise at the heavy
armament of our Tarascon warrior.