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Updated: May 9, 2025
In vain did the luckless sportsman try to make her understand how the blunder had occurred, and he had mistaken "Noiraud" for a lion. The harridan believed he was making fun of her, and uttering energetical "Der Teufels!" fell upon our hero to bang him with the gingham.
The great hunter knelt down and tried to stanch the donkey's wounds, and it seemed grateful to him, for it feebly flapped its long ears two or three times before it lay still for ever. Suddenly a voice was heard calling, "Noiraud! Noiraud!" It was "the female."
At the soothing contact of the sash, the bourriquot, which was already at death's door, opened a big grey eye and twitched once or twice its long ears, as if to say "Thank you!... Thank you!". Then a final tremor shook it from head to tail and it moved no more. "Noiraud!... Noiraud!" Came a sudden cry from a strident, anxious voice, and the branches of some nearby bushes were thrust aside.
Interrupted Tartarin, who had become very red at the memory of Noiraud, adding hypocritically, "How can these little creatures carry all our equipment?" The prince smiled, "You are mistaken my illustrious friend," He said, "The bourriquot may seem to you a poor weak creature, but it has a great heart... It needs it to support all it has to bear... ask the Arabs.
As soon as he had swallowed his last morsel, he got up, thanked his host, took leave of the old lady without any ill-feeling, shed a last tear over the unfortunate Noiraud and headed quickly for Algiers, with the firm intention of packing his trunks and departing that same day for the south. Sadly, the main Mustapha road seemed to have grown longer during the night.
At the touch of the silky cloth the donkey, who had not twopennyworth of life in him, opened his large grey eye and winked his long ears two or three times, as much as to say, "Oh, thank you!" before a final spasm shook it from head to tail, whereafter it stirred no more. "Noiraud!
The best thing to do is to stop there, and buy some donkeys." "No, no; no donkeys," quickly interrupted Tartarin, becoming quite red at memory of Noiraud. "How can you expect," he added, hypocrite that he was, "that such little beasts could carry all our apparatus?" The prince smiled. "You are making a mistake, my illustrious friend.
Certainly it might have been better for Tartarin to have had to deal with an angry lioness than this infuriated old lady. In vain he tried to explain what had happened... how he had mistaken Noiraud for a lion, she thought he was trying to make fun of her and, uttering loud cries of indignation, she set about our hero with blows from her umbrella.
Then the poor Noiraud was buried beneath a fig tree, and the Alsation, put in a good humour at the sight of so much money, invited our hero to break a crust at his tavern, which was not far away at the edge of the main road. The Algerian hunters went there every Sunday for luncheon; for the countryside was full of game, and for two leagues about the city there was not a better place for rabbits.
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