“At this moment a harsh voice in the crowd murmured close to my ear— “‘_Moâ, j’étais pértisan du lione!_’ (‘I was for the lion.’) “Turning round, I found myself facing an emaciated being, tall as a pole, beardless, wrinkled, without any visible marks of age, and very dirty. In the nervous state in which I found myself, a superstitious influence at first led me to believe that I had met the Englishman who makes it his profession to follow lion-tamers about the world until there is not a joint of them left. “But now I believe that the speaker had no connection with the legendary lord. And the _lione_ of which he was _pértisan_ must have been the most respectable acquaintance that he could hang on to. I have, in fact, met this individual again in the bookmakers’ corner of the racecourse at Longchamps, and this was his trade: imagine a start of six horses; he would go up to six greenhorns, and successively murmur in their ears, as quickly as possible, the name of a different winner to each man. After the race he went up to the individual whom luck had favoured and claimed a reward. “Let us, then, my dear Hugues Le Roux, distrust all the new acquaintances we may meet, even under the patronage of a lion, and let us rely upon old friendships, such as I feel for you. “PAUL HERVIEU.” [p158] I have quoted, almost as it was written, this letter from an artist, who, like the lion possesses a good eye and velvet paws, first, because I felt sure that it would interest you deeply; secondly, because it delighted me; and thirdly, because it is a good proof that there was some danger in approaching the lion, whom I interviewed in his cage for your satisfaction. I do not wish to pose before you as a Tarasconese hero, but I do not wish either that you should take me for the pantaloon of Italian comedy. [Illustration] FOOTNOTES: [7] He is a valiant tamer, he never recedes. His shape combines the gods,in it one seems to see Apollo’s divine grace, with the strength of Hercules. But, above all, his soft, dark eyes, are dear to me. [8] In this summer of 1889 another son, Edmond Pezon, has been twice injured by the lion Brutus. [9] The audience screamed for help; the great terror Which seized the heart of every spectator No words can picture. Breathless all present wait, Helpless to rescue the man from impending fate, When, at the vital moment, fearless, yet panting, A lion appeared, in guise of a stripling, His son and his pupil! Yes, Adrian himself! [p159] [Illustration] CHAPTER VII. EQUESTRIANS. I retain amongst the recollections of my provincial childhood, the remembrance of an annual festival, in itself noisy and marvellous, and even now, when I close my eyes, I can recall the brightness of its lamps.