Perhaps it was the sight of the rifle, perhaps it recognised an enemy of its kind, but the lion which up until then had looked on the people of Tarascon with sovereign disdain, yawning in their faces, seemed to feel a stirring of anger.
First it sniffed and uttered a rumbling growl, it stretched out its forefeet and unsheathed its claws, then it got up, raised its head, shook its mane, opened its huge maw and directed at Tartarin a most ear-splitting roar.
This was greeted by a cry of terror.

Tarascon, in panic, rushed for the doors.

Everyone, men, women, children, the hat shooters and even the brave Commandant Bravida himself.

Only Tartarin did not move...

he remained firm and resolute before the cage, a light shining in his eyes, and wearing that grim expression which the town knew so well.