This thought cooled his ardour a little, but the little slipper
continued to tease and the he eyes opened very wide, like two black
velvet flowers which seemed to say "Come and gather us!"

The omnibus stopped. It had arrived at the Place du théatre, at the
entrance to the Rue Bab Azoum. One by one, enveloped in their billowing
garments and drawing their veils about them with savage grace, the Moors
dismounted. Tartarin's neighbour was the last to leave and as she rose
to go her face was so close to that of our hero that their breaths
mingled and he was aware of a bouquet of youth, jasmine, musk and
pastries.

He could no longer resist. Drunk with love and ready to face anything,
he scrambled after the Moor... At the sound of his clumsy footsteps she
turned and put her finger to her lips, as if to say "Hush" and with
the other hand she tossed him a little scented garland made of jasmine
flowers. Tartarin bent to pick it up, but as he was somewhat overweight
and much encumbered by his weapons, the operation took a little
time... When he rose, the garland pressed to his heart, the little Moor
had disappeared.




Chapter 19.

Sleep, lions of the Atlas! Sleep tranquilly in your lairs amongst the
aloes and the cactus! It wil be some time before Tartarin de Tarascon
comes to slaughter you. At the moment his equipment, his arms, his
medicine chest, the preserved food and the bivouac tent are piled