"The date was unnecessary," said the lieutenant.
"Pardon me," I answered. "I wrote unthinkingly—it's an important date for me."
"By God, you're right," said he.
In single file we were marched to the barracks. One of the French soldiers who met us on the way stopped, and threw up his hands in laughing astonishment:
"Eh!"
And then, making a wry face, he yelled, in a coarse sing-song:
"Nous sommes les légionnaires d'Afrique…."
Half an hour later three new recruits of the Foreign Legion, the recruit Schneider, the recruit Rader and the recruit Rosen, sat in a little room belonging to the quarters of the 31st French Regiment of Line. All three were Germans. Rader opened the conversation.
"My name's Rader. Pretty good name, ain't it, though it isn't my name, of course. I might have called myself von Rader—Baron von Rader—while I was at it, but I ain't proud. What's in a fine name, I say, if you've got nothing to fill your stomach with? No, the suckers may call me Rader. My real name is Müller. Can't use it! Must have some regard for the feelings of my people…."