ked to him:

"No French soldier would have stood that treatment."

"Possibly not," answered the officer, "but German soldiers know what
discipline is."

On arriving in Havre, Paul found many volunteers placed in the same
position as himself. All were waiting a chance to return to America;
most of them looking to the French government to assist them home. While
waiting for these orders that were very tardy in coming, Paul made
the acquaintance of a Danish Count who had served all through the war.
His quiet, gentle manners and evident embarrassment at being surrounded
by the rough crowd of adventurers and soldiers of fortune with whom Fate
had thrown him, appealed to Paul's sympathy, He said to the Count: "Come
with me and I will take care of you." They secured lodging together on
the upper story in a house in the Rue de l'Hospital for the princely
consideration of one franc a week, which the landlady informed them must
be paid in advance. With the air of a millionaire, Paul paid the rent
for the first week and cheerfully intimated to the landlady that they
would require the best room in her house as soon as their remittances
arrived. Their room was a miserable affair in the attic, lit up with one
small window. The scant bed clothes often compelled them to sleep in
their uniforms of a cold night. When they reached their apartment they
compared notes and found that all the money they had between them
amounted to eight francs and seventy five centimes, (about $1.75).

"We must sail close to the wind now, Count," said the ever cheerful Paul
to the despondent Dane. "With good management we can live high on a
franc a day."

They did not live high, but they subsisted. Paul had entire charge of
the household affairs and he drove hard bargains with those whom he
favored with his patronage. The little square, two cent cakes of sausage
were eagerly scrutinized while he weighed the one cent loaves of bread
in his hand. Every two cent herring was examined as closely as a
gourmand would a porter-house steak or some rich game. When the
provisions were secured, Paul returned to their apartment where he
generally found the Count with his head between his hands, seated near
the window. "Now for the banquet," he would exclaim as he lit up a sou's
worth of wood with which to fry the herring. The little squares of
sausage would be placed on the soap dish. At times he prevailed on the
Count to go down