rm gazed at the soiled
scarecrows who had to be made into soldiers: for this being
Sidi-bel-Abbes, there was no difficulty in guessing that the
twenty-eight or thirty men of six or seven nations were recruits of the
Legion of Foreigners. The draggled throng was quietly indicated to the
visitor in civilian clothes, who nodded appreciatively and then turned
away. But the boxer's brigade explained the unfortunate wretches so
loudly and unflatteringly to their guest that haggard faces flushed and
quivering lips stiffened; while at the gateway of exit, a motionless row
of non-commissioned officers, watching for deserters, regarded "_les
bleus_" critically, yet indifferently.

Max, whose quick imagination made him almost painfully sensitive for
others, felt hot and sorry for the men herded together by misfortune. He
had read sensational stories of the Foreign Legion, and found himself
hypnotized into looking for brutal jowls of escaped murderers, or faces
of pallid aristocrats in torn evening clothes, splashed with blood.
Among these men of mystery or sorrow there were, however, few startling
types which caught the eye. But one man--young, tall, straight as an
arrow--running the gauntlet of jokes and stares with fierce, repressed
defiance, turned suddenly to look at Max and Sanda.

Where to place him in life, Max could not tell. He might be prince or
peasant by birth, since prince and peasant are akin at heart, and ever
remote from the middle-classes as from Martians. He wore a soft, gray
felt hat, smeared with coal-dust from the engine. The collar of his
dusty black overcoat was turned up; it actually looked like an evening
coat. His trousers were black too, and Max had an impression of patent
leather shoes glittering through dust. But these details were only
accessories to the picture, and interesting because of the wearer's
face. It was dark as that of a Spaniard from Andalusia, with the high,
proud features of an Indian. It had been clean-shaven a few days ago;
and from two haggard hollows a pair of wild black eyes flashed one
glance at Max--the only man who had not seemed to stare. Face and look
were unforgettable. It seemed to Max that some appeal had been flung to
him. He could hardly keep himself from striding after the tall figure,
to ask: "What is it you want me to do?" And Sanda also had been
impressed. He heard her murmur under her breath, "Poor man! What
wonderful eyes!"

Nobody moved from the platform until t