On entering, the Tarasconian laid a hand on his heart and bowed as
Moorlike as possible, whilst rolling his large impassioned eyes.

Baya gazed on him for a moment without making any answer; but
then, dropping her pipe-stem, she threw her head back, hid it in her
hands, and they could only see her white neck rippling with a wild
laugh like a bag full of pearls.



XI.
Sidi Tart'ri Ben Tart'ri.


SHOULD you ever drop into the coffee-houses of the Algerian
upper town after dark, even at this day, you would still hear the
natives chatting among themselves, with many a wink and slight
laugh, of one Sidi Tart'ri Ben Tart'ri, a rich and good-humoured
European, who dwelt, a few years back, in that neighbourhood,
with a buxom witch of local origin, named Baya.

This Sidi Tart'ri, who has left such a merry memory around the
Kasbah, is no other than our Tartarin, as will be guessed.

How could you expect things otherwise? In the lives of heroes, of
saints, too, it happens the same way -- there are moments of
blindness, perturbation, and weakness. The illustrious Tarasconian
was no more exempt from this than another, and that is the reason
during two months that, oblivious of fame and lions, he revelled in