"Be off with you and get into your quarters!" he commanded. "You can be jolly glad that your own company is on guard duty, else you would have been locked up at once. Allez--schieb' los!" The old légionnaire stared at the sergeant. Suddenly, without saying a word, he hit him right in the face with his fist. "Aux armes!" the reeling sergeant yelled. Bertillon had pulled out his bayonet and was slashing and hitting at every one, roaring like a wild beast. A terrible tussle ensued. We were twelve to one, but it took us more than a quarter of an hour to get the upper hand of the "cafard" madman, and every one had been more or less wounded by his bayonet. At length we contrived to throw blankets over his head, and strapping him up like a parcel, we threw him into the prison. On opening the cell the next morning he was found dead. At the post-mortem examination the army surgeon stated that the bursting of an artery in the brain had been the cause of death. These are the worst cases of "cafard." Generally the peculiar malady of the Foreign Legion shows itself in all kinds of peculiar whims. Smith's comical reciting of the Koran chapters was such a whim. Many developed some kind of fixed idea. The cook of my company was an old légionnaire who had served in the Legion for fifteen years and was soon to be pensioned off; his fixed idea was that he was Bismarck's double. His name was Schlesinger. Like the German Prime Minister, he had the stature of a giant, and in his heavy face with the bald head, in the sharp eyes, there certainly was a slight resemblance to the features of the "man of iron." The Legion, being good-natured and having a great sense of humour, did old Schlesinger the favour of never calling him anything else but "Bismarck." Herr von Rader was the first one to draw my attention to him. He had heard of the cook's peculiarity and ... forthwith rushed to the kitchen. He lounged about the door till the cook, getting suspicious, came to see if the intruder intended stealing. Hardly had von Rader seen him, when he called out in astonishment: "Good gracious! that surely must be Bismarck!" The cook drew himself up majestically and smiled condescendingly. "Such a likeness!" in a surprised voice from von Rader. "Very like--n'est-ce pas?" said Schlesinger, highly flattered. "Really wonderful! You surely must be a relation of the Bismarck family?" "That may be," nodded the cook, very much pleased. This was quite a new idea. It had never entered his head that he might be related to Bismarck. "You're certainly a relation," said von Rader in a tone of conviction, "an illegitimate." "Très possible--très possible," the cook murmured, proud and happy. "Are you a young soldier?" he asked the man who had put the wonderful idea into his poor old légionnaire's head.