The arrival of Tartarin with the rifle on his shoulder produced something of a chill, all the bold Tarasconais who had been walking tranquilly before the cages, unarmed, trusting, with no notion of danger, became suddenly alarmed at the sight of the great Tartarin entering the place, carrying this lethal weapon.  There must be something to fear if he, their hero....  In the blink of an eye the area in front of the cages was deserted, children were crying with fright and the ladies were eying the doorway.  Bezuquet the chemist left hurridly, saying that he was going to fetch a gun.

Little by little, however, the attitude of Tartarin restored their courage.  Calm and erect, the intrepid Tarasconais strolled round the menagerie.  He passed the seals without stopping.  He cast a contemptuous eye on the container full of noise, where the boa was swallowing its chicken, and at last halted in front of the lion’s cage....  A dramatic confrontation....  The lion of Tarascon and the lion of the Atlas mountains face to face.

On one side stood Tartarin, his legs planted firmly apart, his arms resting on his rifle, on the other was the lion, a gigantic lion, sprawling in the straw, blinking its eyes drowsily and resting its enormous yellow-haired muzzle on its front paws... they regarded one another calmly... then something odd happened.  Perhaps it was the sight of the rifle, perhaps it recognised an enemy of its kind, but the lion which up until then had looked on the people of Tarascon with sovereign disdain, yawning in their faces, seemed to feel a stirring of anger.  First it sniffed and uttered a rumbling growl, it stretched out its forefeet and unsheathed its claws, then it got up, raised its head, shook its mane, opened its huge maw and directed at Tartarin a most ear-splitting roar.

This was greeted by a cry of terror.  Tarascon, in panic, rushed for the doors.  Everyone, men, women, children, the hat shooters and even the brave Commandant Bravida himself.  Only Tartarin did not move... he remained firm and resolute before the cage, a light shining in his eyes, and wearing that grim expression which the town knew so well.  After a few moments, the hat shooters, somewhat reassured by his attitude and the solidity of the cage bars, rejoined their chief, to hear him mutter “Now that is something worth hunting.”  And that was all that he said.

Chapter 8.

Although at the memagerie he had said nothing more, he had already said too much.  The following day all the talk of the town was of the impending departure of Tartarin for Africa, to shoot lions.

You will bear witness that the good fellow had not breathed a word of this, but you know how it is... the mirage....  In short the whole of Tarascon could talk of nothing else.

On the pavement, at the club, at Costecalde’s shop, people accosted one another with an air of excitement.