"You aren't German, are you?"
Schneider laughed.
"No," said he. "I am not German. I am an Austrian—but I will tell you about that some day."
Next evening, they met in the town and Schneider stood Jacques a bottle of wine. It was the beginning of a friendship that was to last some months, a warm friendship, at least on the part of Jacques, who found himself actually caring less for Schneider's money or his wine than his companionship. Schneider, now that the ice was thawed, exhibited an interest in the Legion and its history in strong contrast with his general air of disinterest in everything. More especially did he ask questions about men who had tried to make their escape, their methods and their chances.
"Mon Dieu," would reply Jacques, "there's not a chance, not one in a thousand has ever done it." He went into the subject from the circumference to the centre and in the manner of an expert. He showed how the boats were guarded at Oran, how the railway line was watched and the roads patrolled.
"And how about escaping by way of the interior?" asked Schneider.
Jacques laughed and gave examples of men who had tried that business and their horrible fate.
"It's a fool's game," said he, "however you take it; but why do you talk of it so much. Do you want to escape?"
"Not I," said Schneider. "I am as happy here as anywhere else. I am interested in the subject, that is all."
But despite his interest in the subject, he did not refer to it again, and it seemed to Jacques for a moment as they returned to barracks that under the calm and listless demeanour of his friend there lay an uneasy spirit; the spirit of the slave that has sold himself into slavery and who has awakened to the galling of his chains.