would be better to buy some pipes from the brother, which could not fail to soften the savage temperament of the gentleman and would please the lady, who greatly enjoyed smoking.  “Let us go quickly then and buy some pipes,” Said Tartarin.  “No, no.”  Replied the prince, “Let me go alone, I shall get them at a better price.”  “Oh prince!  How good you are to take such trouble.”  And the trusting fellow held out his purse to the obliging Montenegrin, exhorting him to neglect nothing which might make the lady happy.

Unfortunately, the affair which had started so well, did not progress as rapidly as one might have wished.  Very touched, it seemed, by Tartarin’s eloquence, and already three parts won over, she would have liked nothing better than to have received him, but her brother had scruples, and to lay these to rest it was necessary to buy an astonishing number of pipes.  Sometimes Tartarin wondered what on earth the lady did with them all, but he paid up nevertheless, and without stinting.

At last, after the purchase of many pipes and the composing of many sheets of oriental prose, a rendezvous was arranged.  I need hardly tell you with what fluttering of heart Tartarin prepared himself; with what care he trimmed, washed and scented his beard, without forgetting—­for one must always be prepared—­to slip into his pockets a life-preserver and a revolver.  The ever-obliging prince attended this first meeting in the role of interpreter

The lady lived in the upper part of the town.  Outside her door lounged a young Moor of fourteen or fifteen, smoking a cigarette, it was Ali, her brother.  When the two visitors arrived he knocked twice on the postern and retired from the scene.  The door was opened and a negress appeared, who, without saying a word, conducted the two gentlemen across a narrow interior courtyard to a small, cool room where the lady awaited them, posed on a divan.

At first glance it seemed to Tartarin that she was smaller and sturdier than the Moor on the omnibus... were they in fact the same?  But this suspicion was only momentary:  the lady was so pretty, with her bare feet and her plump fingers, rosy and delicate, loaded with rings; while beneath her bodice of gold cloth and the blossoms of her flowered robe was the suggestion of a charming form, a little chubby, dainty and curvaceous.  The amber mouthpiece of a narghile was between her lips and she was enveloped in a cloud of pale smoke.

On entering, Tartarin placed his hand on his heart and bowed in the most Moorish manner possible, rolling big, passionate eyes...  Baia looked at him for a moment without speaking, then letting go of the amber mouthpiece, she turned her back, hid her face in her hands and one could see only her neck, shaken by uncontrollable laughter.

Chapter 22.

If you go in the evening into some of the coffee-houses of the Algerian upper town, you will hear even today, Moors speak among themselves, with winks and chuckles, of a certain Sidi ben Tart’ri, an amiable, rich European who—­it now some years ago—­lived in the upper town with a little local girl called Baia.