They were a rather disconsolate lot, very smart-looking, in their pretty nursing uniforms, but bored by enforced idleness. More than one told me, with true British spirit, that she would prefer to be in the most dangerous section of the front rather than pass another idle day at the expense of those they had come to serve. Later on this wish was gratified, and no doubt each of them has more than repaid the cost of their brief period of sloth. A certain man, also residing at the hotel, was constantly haunting these women, who complained of his persistent attentions and efforts to draw them into conversation. He posed as an Englishman, and, before England entered the war, had been in that country. But his appearance was not English, and his voice had a guttural accent that made me suspect him of being a German spy—a suspicion that I later had reason to believe was well founded. He had the room next to mine, with a communicating door, through which one could hear voices even when lowered. Visitors constantly came there, mostly women who spoke French along the corridor to the servant directing them, but, once in his room with the door closed, spoke German, and usually took care that no word should be heard outside. But one day a woman entered so early that the knock at his door awakened me; I then heard low voices and the crisp rattle of papers. Presently another woman was shown into the room; and she, evidently agitated, spoke in German loud enough for me to hear in my bed these significant sentences: “_Ach Gott_, you are confident, but I am not! It is said the Russians mean to make of it a religious war. In that case it will go hard with Germany.” The man’s reply was too low to be heard, and she continued: “To be sure; but look at this.” A sound came of paper like that of a letter being opened. At this moment the telephone-bell rang; the man answered it in French, and his words came to me clearly: “Hallo! Yes. She is here with me now; I have seen the letter.... _Pas du tout!_ Do nothing until I see you.... Yes, he is a Belgian, but his _wife_ is English—there are two sons; one got away the day the Germans entered.... Inquire at the Anglo-American club, Toison d’Or.... _Oh zut!_—tell him I shall be at your place at eleven and——” The rest was drowned by someone’s pet dog barking in the corridor—a soldier’s dog, as it proved afterwards. On descending for dinner that evening, my companion and I were joined, while awaiting the lift, by two German soldiers—probably the orderlies of officers lodged on the same _étage_. With them was a fox terrier, doubtless the one that interrupted my eavesdropping. It approached to be caressed, which led me to ask the soldiers if they intended to take it to the front. “_Gewiss!_” replied one, rather aggressively; “he will come with us to Paris and then to _London_!” The emphasis on the last word betrayed that he thought me English, and the intended taunt angered me.