“Who says there are no more lions?” Cried Tartarin, jumping back. On hearing this exclamation the lion lowered its head, and taking in its jaws the wooden begging bowl which lay on the pavement before it, extended it humbly in the direction of Tartarin, who was paralyzed by astonishment... a passing Arab tossed in a few coppers. Then Tartarin understood. He saw what his surprise had at first prevented him from seeing, a crowd of people which was gathered round the poor tame lion, which was blind, and the two big negroes, armed with cudgels, who led it about the town. Tartarin’s blood boiled. “Wretches!” He cried “To debase this noble creature!” And running to the lion he snatched the sordid begging bowl from the royal jaws.... The two negroes, believing they were dealing with a thief, threw themselves on Tartarin with raised cudgels. It was a terrible set-to. Women were screeching children laughing there were calls for the police and the lion in its darkness joined in with a fearsome roar. The unhappy Tartarin after a desperate struggle, rolled on the ground among copper coins and road sweepings. At this moment a man pushed through the crowd. He dismissed the negroes with a word and the women and children with a gesture. He helped Tartarin to his feet, brushed him down and seated him, out of breath, on a bollard. “Good heavens... prince... Is it really you?” Said Tartarin, rubbing his ribs. “Indeed yes my valiant friend... it is I. As soon as I received your letter I confided Baia to her brother, hired a post-chaise, came fifty leagues flat out and here I am just in time to save you from the brutality of these louts.... For God’s sake what have you been doing to get yourself dragged into a mess like this?” “What could you expect me to do, prince, when I saw this unfortunate lion with the begging bowl in its teeth, humiliated, enslaved, ridiculed, serving as a laughing stock for this unsavoury rabble...?” “But you are mistaken my noble friend.” Said the prince, “This lion on the contrary is an object of respect and adoration. It is a sacred beast, a member of a great convent of lions founded three centuries ago by Mahommed-ben-Aouda, a sort of wild fierce monastry where strange monks rear and tame hundreds of lions and send them throughout all north Africa, accompanied by mendicant brothers. The alms which these brothers receive serve to maintain the monastry and its mosque, and if those two negroes were in such a rage just now, it is because they are convinced that if one sou, one single sou, of their takings is lost through any fault of theirs, the lion which that are leading will immediately devour them.”