The manager, who is a simple fellow,--he is a self-made man, and curiosity is not the least of his faults,--comes hurrying to us immediately. We are just getting up to go back to our work, but he signs to us to remain seated. He is a nervous little man, with a face like a weasel; his restless, mobile physiognomy is lighted up by two piercing grey eyes. On his head is a bowler hat covered with sawdust. He wears an old coat much frayed and darned all over, the pockets are bulging with notebooks. The end of a folding measure sticks out from his trousers pocket. Gaily, without preamble, he begins by pitying the prisoners for the fatigue they must feel in doing manual work to which they are not accustomed. With the perspicacity, delicacy and tact of a _sergent de ville_ making an inquiry, he asks us if it is really true that we are all “Unteroffizieren,” and then with a tear in his eye he speaks of his son who is also a N.C.O. and who has not come back. It gives him pleasure to talk of the missing man to “his colleagues.” He is proud of it. He holds forth and soon tells us about his troubles, his moral torments, his business trials, the scarcity of men, the terrible price of food, etc. etc. When he has given vent to his feelings his curiosity gains the upper hand. He questions us and does not disguise his admiration and his astonishment. “Kaufmann! Ach! So. Buchhändler! Schön! Oberlehrer! Professor!” Here he is a little puzzled. He looks in vain for the spectacles that tradition has fixed on the noses of the learned. In order to convince him, one of us declares that this ornament, this symbol of learning, was left on the battlefield where our “Herr Professor” was wounded and captured. A half-timid respect takes hold of this simple man, for whom titles mean so much. Very soon he will thank us for having condescended to honour his sawmill with our august presence. His admiration is greater than his love of gain, and he begs us not to overtire ourselves. We must not work more than is enough to distract us by a little healthy exercise, we must take care of ourselves. Then the conversation turns naturally on general politics and the war. The manager is thunderstruck by the splendid confidence which the Frenchmen profess, and who--the _Gazette de Cologne_ in their hand--nevertheless certify that the victory is on the side of the Allies, and who prove it too in a clear, peremptory and conclusive manner. The poor old man’s confidence begins to be shaken. Should he doubt his Kaiser! _Potius mori!_ After having offered a cigar to each of us, he makes us promise to come back the next day, and goes away proud that the French N.C.O.’s have deigned to discuss things with him, a poor “Holtzhändler.” Four o’clock. A break allowed of a quarter of an hour.