_ of the Legionnaire; all his belongings,
underclothes, and uniforms, built into the wonderful, artistic structure
which Four Eyes had shown his pet how to make. A thief was searching
among the neat layers of the _paquetage_ for money: every one knew that
St. George had money, for he was continually lending or giving it away.
This one meant to save him the trouble by taking it. Max felt suddenly
sick. He had thought all his comrades true to him. It was a blow to find
that some one wished to steal the little he had left, though he had
grudged no gift.

Just as Max waked the thief satisfied himself that the well-known wallet
was not hidden in the _paquetage_, and stooped lower to peer at the
sleeper's face before feeling under the pillow. His eyes and Max's
wide-open eyes met. In a flash Max recognized the man. He was of another
company, and had risked much to steal into the dormitory of the Tenth.
The fellow must be desperate! A wave of mingled pity and loathing rushed
over Max. Fearing consequences for the wretch, should any one wake, he
would mercifully have motioned him off in silence; but the warning
gesture was misunderstood. The thief started back, expecting a blow,
stumbled against the nearest bed, roused Four Eyes, and in a second the
whole room was in an uproar.

The full moon lit the intruder's face as if with a white ray from a
police lantern. Pelle and a dozen others recognized the man from the
Eleventh, who could have but one midnight errand in the sleeping-room of
the Tenth: the errand of a thief. Like wolves they leaped on him,
snapping and growling, swearing the strange oaths of the Legion.
Bayonets flashed in the moonlight; blood spouted red, for a soldier of
the Legion may "decorate" himself with a comrade's belt, or bit of
equipment, if another has annexed his: that is legitimate, even _chic_;
but money or food he must not steal if he would live. It is the Legion's
law.

All was over inside two minutes. The guard, hearing shouts, rushed in
and stoically bore away a limp, bloodstained bundle to the hospital.
Nobody blamed the men. Nobody pitied the bundle--except Max, whose first
experience it was of the Legion's swift justice. But nothing, not even
exciting prospects of a march, can be allowed to spoil the Legion's
rest; and so it was that in half an hour the raging avengers had become
once more stone figures carved on narrow tombs in a moonlit mausoleum.

For the first and only time since he had j