The Paris-Marseille express had not yet arrived, so Tartarin and his general staff went into the waiting-room.

To keep back the following crowd the station-master closed the barriers.
For fifteen minutes Tartarin paced back and forward, surrounded by the hat shooters.

He spoke to them of his coming expedition, promising to send them skins, and entering their orders in his note-book as if they were a list of groceries.

As tranquil as was Socrates at the moment when he drank the hemlock, the bold Tartarin had a word for everyone.
He spoke simply and affably, as if before departing he wished to leave behind a legacy of charm, happy memories and regrets.

To hear their chief speak thus brought tears to the eyes of the hat shooters, and to some, such as the president Ladeveze and the chemist Bezuquet, even a twinge of remorse.