d entirely misunderstood Nietsche.

After the toast of "The King," a momentary silence fell upon the
company, contrasting strangely with the clatter of voices which had
preceded it.

During this lull in the conversation the word "China" was spoken
somewhere near the colonel, and all eyes involuntarily turned to
Madelung.

He sat there stiffly with his cold face, a cynical smile on his thin
lips. "Dangers!" he cried in his hard voice, which had the shrillness
of a musical instrument that has lost its resonance, "Dangers! I knew
nothing about them."

He laughed drily.

Captain Heuschkel, who was always worrying about his fat horses,
inquired: "Well, against such an opponent, surely cover had to be
considered most of all. Wasn't it so? that cover was of more importance
than action? Ten thousand of those yellow fellows were not worth a
single trained soldier, surely?"

"Or one of my horses," he added in his own mind. He would probably have
committed suicide if he had seen one of his horses shot by a dirty
Chinaman.

"Surely it was a question of good cover, wasn't it?" he insisted.

"No," answered Madelung in a loud voice. "It was a question of keeping
your fingers out of your mouth."

"What on earth had that to do with it?" put in Captain von Stuckardt,
rather hesitatingly.

Madelung bowed with ironical politeness.

"Infection with the typhus bacillus," he replied, "was the principal
danger in China, Captain von Stuckardt."

After a little pause the shrill voice continued: "We had a
senior-lieutenant in our cantonment, belonging to some Prussian
grenadier regiment, a gay fellow, and, indeed, quite a useful officer
besides."

Madelung paused a moment, and again his dry, mocking laugh resounded.

Then he continued: "He had a queer fad. He cultivated one of his
finger-nails, that of the little finger of his left hand, with the
greatest care. Just like a Chinese mandarin. At last the nail was fully
a centimetre long, and made holes in all his gloves. Now, whenever a
speck of dirt lodged in this nail, he was in the habit of removing it
with his teeth. It wasn't exactly a nice thing to do; but, you see, he
had a passion for that nail. I often said to him, 'My dear fellow, do
keep your finger away from your mouth--it's just swarming with typhus
bacilli.' He did try, but sometimes he forgot; and so in the end he was
caught."

Every one looked inquiringly at Madelung, and he added: "He died of
typhus."

He si