With Tartarin aboard, the omnibus was now full. At the far end was an
Algerian priest with a big black beard, his nose stuck in his breviary.
Opposite was a young Moorish merchant, puffing at a large cigarette,
then a Maltese seaman, and four or five Moorish women, with white linen
masks, whose eyes alone were visible. These ladies had been on a visit
to the cemetery of Abd-el-Kader, but this did not seem to have depressed
them. Behind their masks they laughed and chattered among themselves and
munched pastries.

It seemed to Tartarin that they cast many glances in his direction, and
one in particular, who was seated opposite him, fixed her gaze on him
and did not remove it.

Although the lady was veiled, the liveliness of her large dark eyes,
emphasised by kohl, a delicate little wrist, encircled by gold
bracelets, which one glimpsed from time to time amidst her draperies,
the sound of her voice, the graceful movements of her head, all
suggested that beneath her garments was someone young, pretty and
loveable.

The embarrassed Tartarin did not know which way to turn. The silent
caress of these beautiful dark eyes set his heart aflutter. He blushed
and paled by turns. Then to complete his downfall he felt on his
massive boot the lady's dainty slipper scurrying about like a little
red mouse.... What was he to do?... Reply to these looks, this touch?...
Yes... but an amorous intrigue in this part of the world can have
terrible consequences. In his imagination Tartarin already saw himself
seized by eunuchs, decapitated or even worse, sewn into a sack and
tossed into the sea with his head beside him.