voice of a woman singing loud and clear:

"Aimes-tu Marco la belle,

"La danse aux salons en fleurs..."

"Tron de Diou!" Said Tartarin, blenching, and he rushed into the
courtyard.

Unhappy Tartarin! What a spectacle awaited him!.... Amid bottles,
pastries, scattered cushions, tambourine, guitar, and hookah, Baia
stood, without her blue jacket or her corslet, dressed only in a silver
gauze blouse and big pink pantaloons, singing "Marco la belle" with a
naval officer's hat tipped over one ear... while on a rug at her
feet surfeited with love and confitures, was Barbassou, the infamous
Barbassou, roaring with laughter as he listened to her.

The arrival of Tartarin, haggard, thin, covered in dust, with blazing
eyes and bristling chechia cut short this enjoyable Turco-Marseillaise
orgy. Baia uttered a little cry, and like a startled leveret she bolted
into the house, but Barbassou was not in the least put out and laughed
more than ever: "Hé!... Hé!... Monsieur Tartarin. What did I tell you? You
can hear that she knows French all right."

Tartarin advanced, furious: "Captain!.." He began; but then, leaning
over the balcony with a rather vulgar gesture, Baia threw down a few
well-chosen words. Tartarin, deflated, sat down on a drum, his Moor
spoke in the argot of the Marseilles back-streets.

"When I warned you not to trust Algerian women," Said Captain Barbassou