“It is plain,” he said, in a voice that was caressingly agreeable, “that you are an extremely clever young man. I have never before met your like—that is, at your age. A great career will be possible to such a young man if only he shows himself eager to serve his government, eager to meet the wishes of his Chancellor.” Of course, I was delighted with this flattery, which I felt was entirely deserved. I began to believe that I was a person of importance. I became stubborn—which always has been one of my best and worst traits. I saw that the gentleman in the frock-coat was becoming angry; his serious eyes flashed. Apparently much against his will, he tried threats; he suavely pointed out that if I persisted in my resolve not to turn over the document, destruction yawned at my feet. The threats touched off the fuse of my romanticism. I felt I was leading the life of intrigue of which I had read. “If you will wait here,” I told him, “I shall go home and get the document for you.” The Chancellor’s representative stroked his beard, deliberated a moment and seemed uncertain. “Oh, the Junge will come back all right,” put in the General Major von Dassel. But the Junge did not come back. My family had always been excessively liberal with money, and I had enough in my own little “war chest” to buy a railroad ticket, and a considerable amount besides. So I promptly ran off to Paris; and to this day I don’t know how long the gentleman in the frock-coat waited for me in von Dassel’s office. The terrors and thrills and delight of that panic stricken flight still make me smile. No peril I have since been through was half as exciting.... Berlin!... Köln!... Brussels! It was a race against apprehension. I was happily frightened, much as a colt is, when it shies at its own shadow. Although I was in long trousers and looked years older than I was, I had not sense enough to see the affair in its true light—a foolish escapade which was quite certain to have disagreeable consequences. And so I fled from Berlin to Paris.