Happily, however, a little man dressed in a tunic with a yellow collar and armed with a long cane arrived on the scene and dispersed the rabble with blows from his stick.
He was an Algerian policeman.

Very politely he arranged for Tartarin to go to the Hotel de l'Europe, and confided him to the care of some locals who led him away with all his baggage loaded on several barrows.
As he took his first steps in Algiers, Tartarin looked about him wide-eyed.

He had imagined beforehand a fairylike Arabian city, something between Constantinople and Zanzibar...

but here he was back in Tarascon.

Some cafes some restaurants, wide streets, houses of four stories, a small tarmac square where a military band played Offenbach polkas, men seated on chairs, drinking beer and nibbling snacks, a few ladies, a sprinkling of tarts and soldiers, more soldiers, everywhere soldiers...