On hearing this unlikely but plausible tale, Tartarin recovered his spirits. “It seems evident after all,” He said “That in spite of what M. Bombonnel said, there are still lions in Algeria.” “To be sure there are,” said the prince, “And tomorrow we shall begin to search the plains by the river Cheliff and you shall see.” “What!... prince. Do you mean to join in the hunt yourself?” “Of course” Said the prince “Do you think I would leave you to wander alone in the middle of Africa, among all those savage tribes, of whose language and customs you know nothing? No! No! My dear Tartarin. I shall not leave you again. Wherever you go I shall accompany you.” “Oh!... prince!... prince!” And Tartarin clasped the valiant Gregory in a warm embrace. Chapter 27. Very early the next morning the intrepid Tartarin and the no less intrepid prince Gregory, followed by half a dozen negro porters, left Milianah and descended towards the plain of the Chetiff by a steep pathway, delightfully shaded by jasmine, carobs and wild olives, between the hedges of little native gardens where a thousand bubbling springs trickled melodiously from rock to rock, a veritable Eden. Carrying as much in the way of arms as the great Tartarin, the prince was further adorned by a magnificent and colourful kepi, covered with gold braid and decorated with oak leaves embroidered in silver thread, which gave his highness the appearance of a Mexican General, or a Middle-European Station-Master. This fantastic kepi greatly intrigued Tartarin and he asked humbly for an explanation. “An indispensable form of headgear for the traveller in Africa.” The prince replied gravely; and while polishing the peak on his coat-sleeve he instructed his innocent companion on the important role played by the kepi in colonial administration, and the deference which its appearance inspires. This to such an extent that the government has been obliged to issue kepis to everyone from the canteen worker to the registrar-general. In fact, according to the prince, to govern the country there was no necessity for an elaborate regime. All that was needed was a fine gold-braided kepi glittering on the end of a big stick. Thus conversing and philosophising, they went there way. The bare-footed porters leapt from rock to rock, shouting and chattering. The armaments rattled in their case. The guns glittered in the sun.. The locals who passed bowed deeply before the magical kepi.... Up on the ramparts of Milianah, the chief of the Arab bureau, who was walking with his lady in the cool of the morning, hearing these unusual noises and seeing between the branches the flash of sunlight on the weapons, feared a surprise attack; whereupon he lowered the portcullis, beat the alarm and put the town in a state of siege.