Our soldiers, a few from all classes, but mostly from the territorials, were drawn up in two lines by German non-commissioned officers. An interpreter translated to them the orders and commands of a fierce German officer. The clinking together of a sentinel’s heels getting into position announced the arrival of the superior officer. A thundered “Achtung!” pealed forth and the General reviewed our soldiers, who were standing at attention. “Frenchmen,” he said, fiercely pulling his moustache, “forty years ago your fathers came here; you are here now, and your sons will come in another forty years! It is good for the French nation to come from time to time and spend a period in Germany. But, after all, you won’t be here for many months: our armies are at Paris, and the war is coming to an end. It was you who declared war; you will repent it. That’s all!” And as the simple wave of his hand was not sufficient to make the assembled prisoners disappear from his sight, he turned round and rode away. Could one possibly speak more wickedly? What pleasure could this officer find in making [Illustration: _Page 38._] our prisoners sadder? Was not their state already bad enough to make it necessary for this old man, with his irony and lies, to come and sow discouragement in the hearts of the fighters of yesterday? But he was carrying out an order--instructions from headquarters--to demoralise those in Germany for whom the fight was over; they must destroy their vitality, their constancy in trial, their living hope, the confidence in victory which is the glory of the French. And our jailers would have been happy if they could have demoralised us, if they could have made us apathetic blocks without moral pluck; so they tried by every means to make our captivity as painful as possible. But those pinpricks, those numberless petty vexations, the false reports put up each day in the camp, could not attain the success on which our jailers counted. The being forbidden to smoke, the punishment of being bound to posts, the long waits standing motionless in the rain, the privations of all sorts, the propagation of news of disaster to our side, and our miserable condition: none of these could touch our spirit. The Frenchman has this to the good, that he keeps a certain youthfulness of character. A trifle may amuse him, because he knows that a comic element, that a grain of folly and gaiety is found in every human creature and in every situation. He is constantly on the watch for this comic element, and is past-master in the art of discovering it. It is, so it seems to him, when he is the most wretched, the most exposed to emergencies, that his eye becomes more acute, so that he seizes still more willingly on the gay and light note which keeps him atune with laughter. So it was that the General who understood us not at all was offended by the mood that he judged provocative, and, unwilling to be worsted, he decided to put an end to it.