46 STORIES FROM DAUDET

have liked to fight to smell powder.
Unfortunately, under the Commune, as
under the Empire, the staff was not
often under fire. Except for messages
and parades, the poor little Turco passed
his time on the Place Vendéme, or in
the courtyard of the Ministry of War,
in the midst of the disorganised camp,
full of brandy casks for ever running,
of barrels of lard staved in, of stuffing
and swilling, where yet the starvation
of the siege was plain enough to see.
Too good a Mussulman to take part in
these orgies, Kadour kept apart, sober
and calm, made his ablutions in acorner,
his ouss-kouss with a handful of semo-
lina; then after a little tune on the
derbouka he would roll himself in his
burnoose and go to sleep on a step by
the bivouac fire.

One morning in May the Turco was
awakened by a terrible firing. All the
headquarters was in commotion; every-
body took to his heels and _ fled.
Mechanically he did like the rest, leapt