Chapter 25.

Indistinctly, through the steamed up windows, Tartarin could see the
pretty square of a neatly laid out little township, surrounded by
arcades and planted with orange trees, in the centre of which a group of
soldiers was drilling in the thin, pink haze of early morning. The cafés
were taking down their shutters, in one corner a vegetable market was
under way. It was charming, but in no way did it suggest lions. "To the
south, further to the south." Murmured Tartarin, settling back in his
corner.

At that moment the coach door was opened, letting in a gust of fresh
air, which bore on its wings, amongst the scent of orange blossom,
a very small gentleman in a brown overcoat. Neat, elderly, thin and
wrinkled, with a face no bigger than a fist, a silk cravat five fingers
high, a leather brief-case and an umbrella. The perfect image of a
village notary. On seeing Tartarin's weaponry, the little gentleman, who
was seated opposite him, looked very surprised, and began to stare at
our hero.

The horses were changed and the coach set off... the little gentleman
continued to stare. At length Tartarin became offended and staring in
his turn at the little gentleman he asked "Do you find this surprising?"

"Not at all, but it does rather get in the way." Was the reply, and
the fact is that with his tent, his revolver, his two rifles and their
covers, not to mention his natural corpulence, Tartarin de Tarascon did
take up quite a lot of space.