"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.
"That's so," groaned von Rader. "I am like you, and have once been something better. My father" (von Rader lowered his voice to a whisper as if he were disclosing the greatest secret), "my father was a count!"
Bismarck was much impressed by his announcement.
"And now I must starve in the Legion," added von Rader sadly.
"Pas ça," said Schlesinger, and, disappearing into the kitchen, he returned with a large piece of roast pork. "Tiens, camarade. To-morrow we will talk again about—about our ancestors. Mais—say nothing."
"Nothing," assured von Rader, putting his finger to his lips.
From that day the pseudo-Bismarck and the pseudo-count were seen together almost daily, and von Rader always had a piece of meat in his knapsack, when we had to eat dry bread in the drill pause.
If any one called the cook "Schlesinger" he was deeply offended and did not answer; even the officers called him Bismarck.
There was another légionnaire I cannot forget—Little Krügerle. His whim was—to steal grapes. A very funny idea, for Krügerle never ate grapes himself; he did not like them. With great trouble he got them into the barracks and then gave them away.