PRINCES of Montenegro are the ones to find the love-bird.

On the morrow early after this evening at the Platanes, Prince
Gregory was in the Tarasconian's bedroom.

"Quick! Dress yourself quickly! Your Moorish beauty is found,
Her name is Baya. She's scarce twenty -- as pretty as a love, and
already a widow."

"A widow! What a slice of luck!" joyfully exclaimed Tartarin, who
dreaded Oriental husbands.

"Ay, but woefully closely guarded by her brother."

"Oh, the mischief!"

"A savage chap who vends pipes in the Orleans bazaar."

Here fell a silence.

"A fig for that!" proceeded the prince; "you are not the man to he
daunted by such a trifle; and, anyhow, this old corsair can be
pacified, I daresay, by having some pipes bought of him. But be
quick! On with your courting suit, you lucky dog!"

Pale and agitated, with his heart brimming over with love, the
Tarasconian leaped out of his couch, and, as he hastily buttoned up
his capacious nether garment, wanted to know how he should act.

"Write straightway to the lady and ask for a tryst."