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Instead of continuing the dialogue, Barbassou stared at him for a space ere he burst into a peal of such hilarity that Sidi Tart'ri sat back dumbfounded on his melons. "What a stunning turban, my poor Monsieur Tartarin! Is it true, what they say of your having turned Turk? How is little Baya? Is she still singing 'Marco la Bella'?" "Marco la Bella!" repeated the indignant Tartarin.
The passengers hurried, Biskris and Mahonnais piled their luggage up in the wherries. Tartarin of Tarascon had no luggage. Here he comes down the Rue de la Marine through the little market, full of bananas and melons, accompanied by his friend Barbassou.
Instead of replying Barbassou regarded him wide-eyed for a few moments, and then he began to laugh and laugh, so that Tartarin sat stunned among his water-melons. "What a get-up, my poor monsieur Tartarin. It's true then what people say, that you have become a Teur? And little Baia, does she still sing 'Marco la belle' all the time?"
Standing in the stern, wearing his fiercest expression, Tartarin nervously fingered the handle of his hunting knife, for in spite of what Barbassou had told him, he was only half reassured about the intentions of these ebony-skinned stevedores, who looked so different from honest longshoremen of Tarascon.
In short, you can picture the interview for yourself; it was characterized by all the florid effusiveness of Mahommedan greetings. I don't suppose you will be astonished at a curious encounter which has just taken place. I must tell you that in my uncle's character while in Paris, Barbassou-Pasha, General in the Turkish cavalry, predominates over Captain Barbassou the sailor.
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. Tartarin does not have any baggage. He comes down from the Rue de la Marine by the little market, full of bananas and water-melons, accompanied by his friend Captain Barbassou.
Barbassou Pasha did not trouble himself very seriously about it, but he approved of my decision, and, contenting himself with a few growls at me by the way, affectionately proceeded to give me the assistance of his experience. It seems that he has or rather I have a house at Paris, which was furnished expressly for the use of His Excellency Mohammed Azis during my uncle's visits there.
"That's true!" returned Firmin Bonaffé, who opened his eyes wide, as if he wished to follow this chain of reasoning, which evidently astonished him by its perspicuity. The issue began to be cleared. "Then we have arrived at the same opinion," continued Barbassou Pasha. "All that remains is to come to an understanding." "By no means! by no means! I repeat, my brother confided his wife to my charge.
The arrival of Tartarin, haggard, thin, covered in dust, with blazing eyes and bristling chechia cut short this enjoyable Turco-Marseillaise orgy. Baia uttered a little cry, and like a startled leveret she bolted into the house, but Barbassou was not in the least put out and laughed more than ever: "He!... He!... Monsieur Tartarin. What did I tell you?
I replied in Italian, which he spoke indifferently well. We thus managed to get along. I then related to him the accident which had brought about the death of Barbassou, my uncle and his friend. He listened to me with a greatly distressed air. "Dunque voi signor padrone?" he replied, uneasily; "voi heritare di tutto? ordinare? commandare?"
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