"Why, it is the regiment's holiday!" he laughed. The "fifth day" it was--pay-day. The Legion's humour called pay-day the regimental holiday. This humour was somewhat grim in view of the fact that pay in the Legion meant but five centimes a day, twenty-five centimes for the pay-roll period of five days. Twenty-five centimes are almost exactly five cents in American, or twopence-halfpenny in English money. So the Legion's "holiday" was at the bottom of all the noise and fun in the canteen! These men in the Legion measured the passing of time by their miserable pay-days only. Such a fifth day marked the glorious epoch when two comrades could buy exactly five "litres" of wine for their joint pay. Certainly such frivolity punished itself: there was no money left for the next five days' tobacco. So wise men in the Legion buy the customary package of tobacco for three sous, and drink but one bottle of wine every five days. This is what the soldier of the Foreign Legion works for: One bottle of wine and one package of tobacco every five days! Shrilly a signal sounded through the noise--lights out! Madame la Cantinière held up her hand, made a funny little bow, and said with a smile: "Bonsoir, messieurs.--Good night, gentlemen." The Legion teaches obedience.... In a very few seconds the canteen was empty and everybody was hurrying across the drill-ground to quarters. * * * * * When roll-call had been finished in our quarters and everybody had gone to bed, I quietly left the room. Sleep did not appeal to me that night. The still of night lay over the barrack-yard. The white moonlight shone on the bare walls of the barracks. The stars of far south glittered in their trembling beauty. I stared up into the splendour of the heavens and brooded over happiness far away--passed--dead.... I heard footsteps and saw a shadow moving somewhere on the other side. And over there a trembling awkward voice sang softly: L'amour m'a rendu fou.... Far into the night I crouched in a corner of the Legion's barrack-yard. * * * * * The first days, the first weeks of life in the Legion were quite sufficient to render me immune against strange things and strange sights. Sometimes it seemed to me as if my nerves were quite dulled. Every day brought monstrous sights and hideous impressions. I shuddered at unheard-of things and wondered at these strange specimens of humanity. But the next moment some new horror made me forget what I had just seen. In a few minutes' walk with the bugler round the barrack-yard one could meet with a variety of sights like the following: A légionnaire ran past us, shrieking in extreme pain, splashed with blood. He had cut off the forefinger and middle finger of his right hand so as to be unfit for active service.