Tartarin advanced, furious: “Captain!..” He began; but then, leaning over the balcony with a rather vulgar gesture, Baia threw down a few well-chosen words. Tartarin, deflated, sat down on a drum, his Moor spoke in the argot of the Marseilles back-streets. “When I warned you not to trust Algerian women,” Said Captain Barbassou sententiously, “The same applied to your Montenegrin prince.” Tartarin looked up, “Do you know where the prince is?” he asked. “Oh, he is not far away. He will spend the next five years in the fine prison at Mustapha. The clown was foolish enough to be caught stealing... and anyway this is not the first time His Highness has been inside, he has already done three years in gaol somewhere, and... hang on!... I believe it was in Tarascon! “In Tarascon!” Cried Tartarin, suddenly enlightened, “that is why I never saw him there. All he knew of Tarascon was what he could see from a cell window.” “Hé!... without a doubt.... Ah! My poor M. Tartarin, you have to keep both eyes wide open in this devilish country if you don’t want to be taken in. Like that business of the Muezzin.” “What business?... What Muezzin?” “Ti!... Pardi!” The Muezzin opposite, who was courting Baia; all Algiers knew about it. Not all the prayers he was chanting were addressed to Allah, some were directed to the little one, and he was making propositions under your nose. “It seems that everyone in this beastly country is a crook”, Wailed the unhappy Tartarin. Barbassou shrugged his shoulders, “My dear fellow, you know how it is. All these sort of places are the same. If you take my advice you will go back to Tarascon as quickly as possible.” “That’s easy to say, but what am I to do for money? Don’t you know how they robbed me out there in the desert?” “Don’t worry about that,” laughed the Captain, “the Zouave is leaving tomorrow and I’ll take you back if you want... does that suit you, colleague?... All right... Good! There’s only one thing left to do, there is still some champagne and some pastries left. Come, sit down and let bygones be bygones.” After a little delay which his dignity required, our hero accepted the offer. They sat down and poured out a drink. Hearing the clink of glasses, Baia came down and finished singing Marco la Belle, and the party went on until late in the night. Chapter 30. It is mid-day. The Zouave has steam up and is ready to depart. Up above on the balcony of the café Valentin, a group of officers aim the telescope, and come one by one, in order of seniority, to look at the lucky little ship which is going to France. It is the principle entertainment of the general staff. Down below, the water of the anchorage sparkles.... The breeches of the old Turkish cannons, mounted along the quay, glisten in the sunshine.... Passengers arrive.... Baggage is loaded onto tenders.