like the truffles in a pie," said the South American. "An
entire day I had to remain with my nose touching the intestines of a
Turk who had died two weeks before.... No, war is not _chic_, Captain,
no matter how much they talk of heroism and sublime things in the
newspapers and books."

Ulysses wished to see the three musketeers again before leaving
Salonica, but the battalion had broken camp and was now situated
several kilometers further inland, opposite the first Bulgarian lines.
The enthusiastic Blanes had already fired his gun against the assassins
of Roger de Flor.

In the middle of November the _Mare Nostrum_ arrived at Marseilles. Its
captain always felt a certain admiration upon doubling Cape Croisette,
and noting the vast maritime curves opening out before the prow. In the
center of it was an abrupt and bare hill, jutting into the sea,
sustaining on its peak the basilica and square-sided tower of
_Notre-Dame-de-la-Garde._

Marseilles was the metropolis of the Mediterranean, the terminal for
all the navigators of the _mare nostrum_. In its bay with choppy waves
were various yellowish islands fringed with foam and upon one of these
the strong towers of the romantic _Chateau d'If_.

All the crew, from Ferragut down to the lowest seaman, used to look
upon this city somewhat as their own when they saw, appearing in the
background of the bay, its forests of masts and its conglomeration of
gray edifices upon which sparkled the Byzantian domes of the new
cathedral. Around Marseilles there opened out a semi-circle of dry and
barren heights brightly colored by the sun of Provence and spotted by
white cottages and hamlets, and the pleasure villas of the merchants of
the city. On beyond this semi-circle the horizon was bounded by an
amphitheater of rugged and gloomy mountains.

On former trips the sight of the gigantic gilded Virgin which glistened
like a shaft of fire on the top of _Notre-Dame-de-la-Garde_ shed an
atmosphere of joy over the bridge of the vessel.

"Marseilles, Toni," the captain used to say gayly. "I invite you to a
_bouillabaisse_ at Pascal's."

And Toni's hairy countenance would break into a greedy smile, seeing in
anticipation the famous restaurant of the port, its twilight shadows
smelling of shell-fish and spicy sauces, and upon the table the deep
dish of fish with its succulent broth tinged with saffron.

But now Ulysses had lost his vigorous joy in living. He looked at the
city with kindl