322 THE LION KILLER. 



thought of the tree in the daytime, and had regarded it as a 

 mean action to take refuge there in the moment of the greatest 

 peril, produced in my mind a perfect calm, that was worthy 

 of a greater test than the one I had experienced, or a more 

 fearful denouement than the one that followed. Judge of my 

 disappointment and relief, when I heard instead of the wild 

 roar of a lioness charging with a howl of rage at the loss of 

 her children, only the plaintive and hungry whine of a cub 

 seeking his nursing mother. 



Even to this day I cannot think of the turbulent emotions 

 of the heart that were caused by that little scamp, without 

 laughing. 



For want of better game, I took the cub in my arms, and 

 wrapping it in the skirt of my burnous, I started to regain 

 the path that led to the douar. 



After three or four hours of hard walking across ravines, 

 and through the tangled woods, after many halts to listen to 

 uncertain sounds that I could not explain, that I first imag- 

 ined to be the distant roar, or the furious course of the 

 lioness on my track, and then, what they really were, the low 

 articulations of forest language that chants in well-known 

 words to nature's children ; at last, I came out of the edge of 

 the timber land, and the barking of the dogs led me to the 

 douar. 



My first care was to examine my cub, and compare him 

 with the other. 



It was a male, and about a third larger than its mate, 

 which was a female, and his dignified deportment and gentle 

 grace, won all hearts at first sight. I gave him the name of 

 Hubert, after my patron saint. While the little lioness 

 shunned all observation, and received the caresses showered 

 upon her, only with blows and scratches, Hubert stretched 

 himself out on the hearth, and looked around with a quiet 



