you straight away."

"All right, that's all right enough!" observed the Tarasconian, a
shade vexed; but softening, he added, "But to the point, my poor
old girl; whatever did you come out here for?"

"Pooh! my good Monsieur Tartarin, I assure you I never came of
my own free will. As soon as the Beaucaire railway was finished I
was considered good for nought, and shipped away into Algeria.
And I am not the only one either! Bless you, next to all the old
stage-coaches of France have been packed off like me. We were
regarded as too much the conservative -- 'the slow-coaches' -- d'ye
see, and now we are here leading the life of a dog. This is what you
in France call the Algerian railways."

Here the ancient vehicle heaved a long-drawn sigh before
proceeding. "My wheels and linchpin! Monsieur Tartarin, how I
regret my lovely Tarascon! That was the good time for me, when I
was young! -- You ought to have seen me starting off in the
morning, washed with no stint of water and all a-shine, with my
wheels freshly varnished, my lamps blazing like a brace of suns, and
my boot always rubbed up with oil! It was indeed lovely when the
postillion cracked his whip to the tune of 'Lagadigadeou, the
Tarasque! the Tarasque!' and the guard, his horn in its sling and
laced cap cocked well over one ear, chucking his little dog, always
in a fury, upon the top, climbed up himself with a shout: 'Right-
away!'

"Then would my four horses dash off to the medley of bells, barks,
and horn-blasts, and the windows fly open for all Tarascon to look