Round the low-burning gas-stove sat some sergeants of the Army Medical Corps. Further away, in a cold corner, a few disabled officers had retired. The insignia of their rank on their collars were missing. They were pale and thin. One of them leant his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. Another’s head was bowed down on his chest. Never in my life have I seen men more dejected than these: they just sat there without moving. And while I looked at them I realised with an aching heart that the horrible betrayal, “the glorious revolution” has wounded the wounded, and far, far away, in the many soldiers’ graves, has killed the dead anew. A hospital train arrived; it brought Germans. In silent line one stretcher after the other defiled through the door, and the men were laid in a gray row on the floor. Under torn, bloody, great-coats, pale patient ghosts. A hospital from the Southern front had been evacuated in haste. “The Serbians are advancing....” The old bandages soaked with blood were dirty on the men: an awful stench of corruption spread over the place. And between the stretchers a Jewish sergeant, in brand new field-uniform, with golden pince-nez, sporting a red cockade, walked haughtily up and down. I had never seen him in the place before. “I have been delegated by the Soldiers’ Council,” he remarked. And this man, whose very appearance betrayed the fact that he had never been a soldier during the war, now stood there, his legs apart, between the wounded and spoke to them with impertinent condescension. I told the doctor that the men required new bandages, it was two weeks now since they had been put on. “There are no bandages,” said the doctor sadly and went back to his room. I did not see him again that evening. The reeking air was now and then rent by a moan, a quiet sigh. That was all. But nobody spoke. The men thanked one with a weary look for the bad decoction and the bread that tasted of sawdust. “Our men are still fighting against the Serbians,” a fair Bavarian mumbled, when I leant down over him. It was only when the red-cockaded sergeant had retired and the other orderly had gone to smoke outside on the platform that there was some talk between the stretchers. “How are things at home?” the Germans asked. “We have no newspapers, we know nothing. People say that there they have made a revolution too and that they want to banish the Kaiser.” Wounded Hungarian soldiers sat on one of the benches and talked of the Italian front: “It was after our men had laid down their arms that the Italians began to shell us. They used heavy artillery and killed whole regiments. Whole divisions were surrounded. They report three hundred thousand prisoners and a thousand guns. All is lost.” “Newspapers too reported that the Italians continued to fire at us for twenty-four hours after we had fired the last shot.” “More men were killed during the armistice than in the bloodiest battle,” an officer grumbled.