I got that letter at five o'clock in the afternoon. I was just off duty and had come back to the barracks, having been pulling out weeds in the Legion's cemetery. That should be my last bit of work as légionnaire. Not a single hour I intended to wait. There was no more rest for me in the land of Sidi-bel-Abbès. In our quarters my comrades were sitting at supper as I came back from the regimental post-bureau, and Smith was much surprised at my eating nothing, and at my putting on at once my extra uniform. He looked suspiciously at me, as if he had an idea that I had something out of the way on my mind. I would have been only too glad to say a last good-bye to the old bugler who had been a true friend to me in his rough way, but he was sitting at table with the rest of the men. When I had finished dressing and had quietly taken my letters and the few trifles I wanted to take with me out of my knapsack, Smith came up and lay down on his bed as usual after supper. "Good-bye, old man," I whispered. "You've been a good fellow." Smith did not move. Only his eyes lighted up.... "Got money?" he asked gently. "Yes." "Then it's all right. Good-bye, sonny--good-bye!" As I went out the other men were sitting on the benches doing the various odd jobs which were part of life in the Legion. They rubbed and polished--polished and rubbed. At that time they were hardly more to me than a passer-by in the street. Now, I confess, the face of every one of them is indelibly burnt into my brain. I was to be subjected to a final annoyance. The sergeant of the guard stopped me at the gate of the barracks, because in my excitement I had buttoned up my overcoat on the wrong side. He said he had a good mind to turn me back for my carelessness. "Nom de Dieu! you pig, don't you know that this month the overcoats are buttoned on the right side?"