The little gentleman got up to leave, but before he closed the door he said “Would you permit me to give you a word of advice M. Tartarin?” “What is that Monsieur?” “Go back quickly to Tarascon, M. Tartarin, you are wasting your time here...  There are a few panthers left in Algeria, but, fi donc!  They are too small a quarry for you... as for lions, they are finished.  There are no more in Algeria, my friend Chassaing has just killed the last one.”

On that the little gentleman saluted, closed the door and went off, laughing, with his brief-case and umbrella.  “Guard!” Said Tartarin, making his grimace.  “Who on earth was that fellow?” “What!  Don’t you know him?” Said the guard, “That’s Monsieur Bombonnel!”

Chapter 26.

When the coach reached Milianah Tartarin got out and left it to continue its journey to the south.  Two days of being bumped about and nights spent peering out of the window in the hope of seeing the outline of a lion in the fields lining the road, had earned a little rest; and then it must be admitted that after the misadventure over M. Bombonnel, Tartarin, in spite of his weapons, his terrible grimace and his red chechia, had not felt entirely at ease in the presence of the photographer and the two ladies of the third Hussars.

He made his way along the wide streets of Milianah, full of handsome trees and fountains, but while he looked for a convenient hotel, he could not prevent himself from mulling over the words of M. Bombonnel.  What if it were true... what if there were no more lions in Algeria?  What then was the point of all this travel and all these discomforts?

Suddenly at a bend in the road our hero was confronted by a remarkable spectacle.  He found himself face to face with—­believe it or not—­a superb lion which was seated regally at the door of a cafe, Its mane tawny in the sunshine.

“Who says there are no more lions?” Cried Tartarin, jumping back.  On hearing this exclamation the lion lowered its head, and taking in its jaws the wooden begging bowl which lay on the pavement before it, extended it humbly in the direction of Tartarin, who was paralyzed by astonishment... a passing Arab tossed in a few coppers.  Then Tartarin understood.  He saw what his surprise had at first prevented him from seeing, a crowd of people which was gathered round the poor tame lion, which was blind, and the two big negroes, armed with cudgels, who led it about the town.

Tartarin’s blood boiled.  “Wretches!” He cried “To debase this noble creature!” And running to the lion he snatched the sordid begging bowl from the royal jaws....  The two negroes, believing they were dealing with a thief, threw themselves on Tartarin with raised cudgels.  It was a terrible set-to.  Women were screeching children laughing there were calls for the police and the lion in its darkness joined in with a fearsome roar.  The unhappy Tartarin after a desperate struggle, rolled on the ground among copper coins and road sweepings.