hirst which, to thoroughly appreciate, one must be
wounded, the door opened and a Turco soldier came into the room and
advanced toward me on tip-toe.

He wore full uniform, was fully equipped, crimson chechia, snowy
gaiters, and terrible sabre-bayonet.

I beckoned him, and the tall, bronzed fellow came up, smiling, showing
his snowy, pointed teeth under a crisp beard.

"Water, Mustapha," I motioned with stiffened lips, and the good
fellow unslung his blue water-bottle and set it to my burning mouth.

"Merci, mon brave!" I said. "May you dwell in Paradise with Ali, the
fourth Caliph, the Lion of God!"

The Turco stared, muttered the Tekbir in a low voice, bent and kissed
my hands.

"Were you once an officer of our African battalions?" he asked, in
the Arab tongue.

"Sous-officier of spahi cavalry," I said, smiling. "And you are a
Kabyle mountaineer from Constantine, I see."

"It is true as I recite the fatha," cried the great fellow, beaming
on me. "We Kabyles love our officers and bear witness to the unity of
God, too. I am a marabout, my inspector, Third Turcos, and I am
anxious to have a Prussian ask me who were my seven ancestors."

The music of his long-forgotten tongue refreshed me; old scenes and
memories of the camp at Oran, the never-to-be-forgotten cavalry with
the scarlet cloaks, rushed on me thick and fast; incidents, trivial
matters of the bazaars, faces of comrades dead, came to me in
flashes. My eyes grew moist, my throat swelled, I whimpered:

"It is all very well, mon enfant, but I'm here with a hole in me
stuffed full of lint, and you have your two good arms and as many legs
with which to explain to the Prussians who your seven ancestors may
be. Give me a drink, in God's name!"

Again he held up the blue water-bottle, saying, gravely: "We both
worship the same God, my inspector, call Him what we will."

After a moment I said: "Is it a battle or a bousculade? But I need
not ask; the cannon tell me enough. Are they storming the heights,
Mustapha?"

"Macache comprendir," said the soldier, dropping into patois. "There
is much noise, but we Turcos are here in Morsbronn, and we have seen
nothing but sparrows."

I listened for a moment; the sound of the cannonade appeared to be
steadily receding westward.

"It seems to me like retreat!" I said, sharply.

"Ritrite? Quis qui ci, ritrite?"

I looked at the simple fellow with tears in my eyes.

"You would not understand if I told you," said