184 THE LION KILLER. 



I could not help remarking the very cold welcome that was 

 extended to us by them. I could not understand a word of 

 their language, but their looks and gestures gave me no 

 room to doubt the little love they bore us. 



I asked Rousselet the reason of this dislike so manifest to 

 all around us. He answered, 



" They don't love wine, nor those that drink it ; we will 

 never be able to civilize those fellows." 



This was all that Rousselet knew of a people among whom 

 he had passed ten years of his life. I immediately compre- 

 hended that I had a poor instructor, if I wanted to under- 

 stand the language, habits, and customs of Algeria, and I 

 resolved, thereafter to do without a teacher. There are 

 things in this world that can be taught by no master. 



When we arrived, the camp of Guelma was all in expec- 

 tation of war, there was no conversation except that which 

 turned on forays and battle. I dreamed already of conflict, 

 of standards taken, of the enemy overthrown ; I snuffed the 

 battle afar off. As to Rousselet, more practical, he dreamed 

 only of razzias and booty. 



This brave child of arms, brave as he might be and full of 

 courage, frankness and honor, desired the war as much as 

 myself, but only that ho might win booty, and then go back 

 to garrison and drink it up. His education did not fit him 

 for any higher grade than that of corporal, which he had 

 won by his bravery in the battle-field, and resigned in order 

 to be more free to roam as he listed through the French pro- 

 vinces of northern Africa. 



For him a campaign was an excursion, a hostile encounter, 



