help look for her.

They drank long and deep. They drank to the ladies of Algeria. They
drank to free Montenegro. Outside, below the terrace, the sea rolled,
the waves slapping wetly on the beach. The air was warm, the sky bright
with stars, in the plane trees a nightingale sang... It was Tartarin who
paid the bill.




Chapter 21.

The Montenegrin prince was as good as his word. Shortly after the
reunion at the Restaurant des Platanes he arrived early one morning at
Tartarin's room. "Quick!... quick!... get dressed" he said, "Your Moor has
been found... her name is Baia... as pretty as a picture, twenty years
old and already a widow." "A widow!.... Well that's a bit of luck" Said
Tartarin who was a little uneasy at the thought of Moorish husbands.
"Yes, but closely guarded by her brother" "Oh! That's a bit awkward"
"A ferocious Moor who sells hookahs in the bazaar" There was a silence,
"Good!" Said the prince, "You're not the chap to be put off by a little
thing like that, and anyway we can perhaps buy off this villain by
purchasing some of his pipes. So come on, get dressed... you lucky dog!"

Pale and excited, his heart full of love, Tartarin jumped out of bed and
as he climbed into his ample underwear he asked "What shall I do now?"
"Write to the lady quite simply and ask for a meeting" "She understands
French then?" Said Tartarin with an air of disappointment. For his
dreams had been of an Arabian Houri, uncontaminated by the west. "She