42 STORIES FROM DAUDET

in the fire of the cannon, could not
bear the nights of the long watch, im-
movable in the snow; and one morn-
ing in January they found him on the
bank of the Marne, with frozen feet,
cramped by the cold. He was a long
time in the ambulance. It was there
I saw him first. Piteous and patient
as a sick dog, the Turco looked around
him with his large, soft gaze. When
you spoke to him he smiled and showed
his teeth. It was all he could do; for
our language was unknown to him, and
he could barely talk the sadir, that
Algerian patois made up of Provengal,
Italian, and Arabic, a medley of words
gathered like shells along the coasts of
the southern seas.

To amuse himself Kadour had only
his derbouka. Now and then, when he
was very weary, they put it on the bed
for him and let him play, but not very
loud, because of the other sick folk.
Then his poor dark face, so dulled and
quenched in the yellow light and melan-