"Oh, dear, no! it only annoys me," responded the other, very
tranquilly.

And the fact is, that, with his shelter-tent, revolvers, pair of guns in
their cases, and hunting-knife, not to speak of his natural
corpulence, Tartarin of Tarascon did take up a lot of room.

The little gentleman's reply angered him.

"Do you by any chance fancy that I am going lion-hunting with
your umbrella?" queried the great man haughtily.

The little man looked at his umbrella, smiled blandly, and still with
the same lack of emotion, inquired:

"Oho, then you are Monsieur" --

"Tartarin of Tarascon, lion-killer!"

In uttering these words the dauntless son of Tarascon shook the
blue tassel of his fez like a mane.

Through the vehicle was a spell of stupefaction.

The Trappist brother crossed himself, the dubious women uttered
little screams of affright, and the Orleansville photographer bent
over towards the lion-slayer, already cherishing the unequalled
honour of taking his likeness.