One evening at Costecalde’s, the gunsmith’s, when Tartarin was explaining some mechanism of a rifle, the door was opened and an excited voice announced, “A lion!  A lion!” The news seemed incredible, but you can imagine the terror that seized the little group at the gunsmith’s as they asked for more news.  It appeared that the lion was to be seen in a travelling menagerie newly arrived from Beaucaire.

A lion at last, and here in Tarascon!  Suddenly, when the full truth had dawned upon Tartarin, he shouldered his gun, and, turning to Major Bravida, “Let us go to see him!” he thundered.  Following him went the cap-hunters.  Arrived at the menagerie, where many Tarasconians were already wandering from cage to cage, Tartarin entered with his gun over his shoulder to make inquiries about the king of beasts.  His entrance was rather a wet blanket on the other visitors, who, seeing their hero thus armed, thought there might be danger, and were about to flee.  But the proud bearing of the great man reassured them, and Tartarin continued his round of the booth until he faced the lion from the Atlas Mountains.

Here he stood carefully studying the creature, who sniffed and growled in surly temper, and then, rising, shook his mane and gave vent to a terrible, roar, directed full at Tartarin.

Tartarin alone stood his ground, stern and immovable, in front of the cage, and the valiant cap-hunters, somewhat reassured by his bravery, again drew near and heard him murmur, as he gazed on the lion, “Ah, yes, there’s a hunt for you!”

Not another word did Tartarin utter that day.  Yet next day nothing was spoken about in the town but his intention to be off to Algeria to hunt the lions of the Atlas Mountains.  When asked if this were true his pride would not let him deny it, and he pretended that it might be true.  So the notion grew, until that night at his club Tartarin announced, amid tremendous cheering, that he was sick of cap-hunting, and meant very soon to set forth in pursuit of the lions of the Atlas.

Now began a great struggle between the two Tartarins.  While the one was strongly in favour of the adventure, the other was strongly opposed to leaving his snug little Baobab Villa and the safety of Tarascon.  But he had let himself in for this, and felt he would have to see it through.  So he began reading up the books of African travel, and found from these how some of the explorers had trained themselves for the work by enduring hunger, thirst, and other privations before they set out.  Tartarin began cutting down his food, taking very watery soup.  Early in the morning, too, he walked round the town seven or eight times, and at nights he would stay in the garden from ten till eleven o’clock, alone with his gun, to inure himself to night chills; while, so long as the menagerie remained in Tarascon, a strange figure might have been seen in the dark, prowling around the tent, listening to the growling of the lion.  This was Tartarin, accustoming himself to be calm when the king of beasts was raging.