The man I had "fought" with rose with some difficulty and walked up to me. We shook hands….
"You were in the right when you ordered me off your bed," he said. "Parbleu, that was a good idea with the stone. Eh, you'll be a good légionnaire very soon. We men of the Legion quarrel often, but at heart we're always comrades. C'est la Légion! I propose we return to our quarters again…."
And in the room we brushed the dust from each other's uniforms, like old friends….
"You're tired, I guess," said the bugler with a grin. "Let's go and have a litre."
I had no objection.
"I am paying for this," he declared, as we crossed the drill-ground.
The regimental canteen was in a small building in a corner of the barrack square. We opened the door and—I at least must have looked very much surprised. There was an awful noise in the little room. A great many soldiers were talking and laughing and singing and yelling in many languages; in German, French, English, Italian and Spanish—there was the jingle of many bottles and glasses. As we entered a German was singing:
Trinken wir noch ein Tröpfchen
Aus dem kleinen Henkeltöpfchen,