“No, no,” I replied irritably. (This matter was getting to be a sore point with me.) “I have just come from Mayence. I am looking for Mayen. Isn’t it over there somewhere?” I pointed to the fields over the river. He shook his head. “Mayen!” he said. “I don’t think there is such a place.” “Good heavens!” I exclaimed, “what are you talking about? Here it is on the map. What is that? Do you live here in Coblenz?” “Gewiss!” he replied. “I live here.” “Very good, then. Where is Mayen?” “I have never heard of it,” he replied. “My God!” I exclaimed to myself, “perhaps it was destroyed in the Franco-Prussian War. Maybe there isn’t any Mayen.” “You have lived here all your life,” I said, turning to my informant, “and you have never heard of Mayen?” “Mayen, no. Mayence, yes. It is up the river near Frankfort.” “Don’t tell me that again!” I said peevishly, and walked off. The elusiveness of my father’s birthplace was getting on my nerves. Finally I found a car-line which ended at the river and a landing wharf and hailed the conductor and motorman who were idling together for a moment. “Where is Mayen?” I asked. “Mayence?” they said, looking at me curiously. “No, no. M-a-y-e-n, Mayen--not Mayence. It’s a small town around here somewhere.” “Mayen! Mayen!” they repeated. “Mayen!” And then frowned. “Oh, God!” I sighed. I got out my map. “Mayen--see?” I said. “Oh, yes,” one of them replied brightly, putting up a finger. “That is so. There _is_ a place called Mayen! It is out that way. You must take the train.” “How many miles?” I asked. “About fifteen. It will take you about an hour and a half.” I went back to the station and found I must wait another two hours before my train left. I had reached the point where I didn’t care a picayune whether I ever got to my father’s town or not. Only a dogged determination not to be beaten kept me at it. It was at Coblenz, while waiting for my train, that I had my first real taste of the German army. Around a corner a full regiment suddenly came into view. They swung past me and crossed a bridge over the Rhine, their brass helmets glittering. Their trousers were gray and their jackets red, and they marched with a slap, slap, slap of their feet that was positively ominous. Every man’s body was as erect as a poker; every man’s gun was carried with almost loving grace over his shoulder. They were all big men, stolid and broad-chested. As they filed over the bridge, four abreast, they looked, at that distance, like a fine scarlet ribbon with a streak of gold in it. They eventually disappeared between the green hills on the other side.