“What made them say there were no more lions?” he cried, astounded at the sight.  The lion lifted in its mouth a wooden bowl from the pavement, and a passing Arab threw a copper in the bowl, at which the lion wagged its tail.  Suddenly the truth dawned on Tartarin.  He was a poor, blind, tame lion, which a couple of negroes were taking through the streets, just like a performing dog.  His blood was up at the very idea.  Shouting, “You scoundrels, to humiliate these noble beasts so!” he rushed and took the degrading bowl from the royal jaws of the lion.  This led to a quarrel with the negroes, at the height of which Prince Gregory of Montenegro came upon the scene.

The prince told him a most untrue story about a convent in the north of Africa where lions were kept, to be sent out with priests to beg for money.  He also assured him that there were lots of lions in Algeria, and that he would join him in his hunt.

Thus it was in the company of Prince Gregory, and with a following of half a dozen negro porters, that Tartarin set off early next morning for the Shereef Plain; but they very soon had trouble, both with the porters and with the provisions Tartarin had brought for his great journey.  The prince suggested dismissing the negroes and buying a couple of donkeys, but Tartarin could not bear the thought of donkeys, for a reason with which we are acquainted.  He readily agreed, however, to the purchase of a camel, and when he was safely helped up on its hump, he sorely wished the people of Tarascon could see him.  But his pride speedily had a fall, for he found the movement of the camel worse than that of the boat in crossing the Mediterranean.  He was afraid he might disgrace France.  Indeed, if truth must out, France was disgraced!  So, for the remainder of their expedition, which lasted nearly a month, Tartarin preferred to walk on foot and lead the camel.

One night in the desert, Tartarin was sure he heard sounds just like those he had studied at the back of the travelling menagerie at Tarascon.  He was positive they were in the neighbourhood of a lion at last.  He prepared to go forward and stalk the beast.  The prince offered to accompany him, but Tartarin resolutely refused.  He would meet the king of beasts alone!  Entrusting his pocket-book, full of precious documents and bank-notes, to the prince, in case he might lose it in a tussle with the lion, he moved forward.  His teeth were chattering in his head when he lay down, trembling, to await the lion.

It must have been two hours before he was sure that the beast was moving quite near him in the dry bed of a river.  Firing two shots in the direction whence the sound came, he got up and bolted back to where he had left the camel and the prince—­but there was only the camel there now!  The prince had waited a whole month for such a chance!

In the morning he realised that he had been robbed by a thief who pretended to be a prince.  And here he was in the heart of savage Africa with a little pocket money only, much useless luggage, a camel, and not a single lion-skin for all his trouble.