The soldiers have had orders, however, not to shoot unless they were attacked, and the crowd gradually regains reassurance. Standing on the outskirts of the throng, I bought an album of views of Berlin from a poor little girl, and immediately after a similar collection from an old woman equally poor and equally insistent. My last recollection of Liebknecht is of a gesticulating volcanic figure, and of a livid face, with the wild eyes and the distorted mouth of a Greek tragic mask. He was killed a few weeks later, within a few hundred yards of where we heard him speak. We have during the day made incursions to various cafés, the “Victoria,” and the one-time very cosmopolitan “Bauer.” In this last, at just an hour before train time we are seated, at question whether, our adventure having proved so successful so far, it be not financially possible to carry it into another day. We decide that if we go fasting during the morrow--a proceeding familiarity with which has rendered not too fearful---we shall have purses sufficient to pay for a bed in the hotel, and our return fares to Beeskow. We have been sitting meanwhile amid a cheerless concourse. The people enter, take their refreshment without any appearance of refreshing, and so depart. “See,” says a Russian, just released from Ruhleben, who has entered into conversation, “how they are dazed; how they are dreaming! All of Germany is as a great empty building!” The streets are crowded, and there is much excitement in the air. Outside the Friedrichstrasse Station we make purchase of a series of severe caricatures of the Kaiser, watched by quite a crowd who seem to recognize the irony of the situation. We have no difficulty in getting into a hotel, and we make no delay in getting into a very inviting bed. [Illustration: A CARICATURE OF THE KAISER. Bought in the streets of Berlin.] CAPTIVITY DE LUXE! Behold next morning two British _Gefangenen_ in the capital of Germany, pillowed luxuriously in bed, pulling the bell-rope insistently, and, a waiter appearing, making demands for an immediate serving of coffee. Not only so, but having search made in the German Bradshaw for the hour of departure of the train which was to convey us back to prison, and the time at which we could attend a celebration of Mass. St. Hedewick is a great circular cathedral, not without a certain impressiveness, particularly when crowded as it was on our arrival. The service was in progress, and from the great organ came a sound like a rushing mighty wind. When we emerged it was raining, and we decided to call as invited on our Russian friend of yesterday. We made our way to the address circuitously and laboriously, receiving direction--and misdirection--from a sailor sentry, who left his post and accompanied us for a ten-minutes’ march to put us on the proper car. “I have to Hartlepool and Gateshead been,” he said.