On arriving in his office he gave us seats at a little table, upon which knives and forks were placed for two persons. It was then three o’clock in the afternoon, and we had had nothing, not even a drop of water, since the evening before. I was very much touched by this thoughtfulness, and we did honour to the very simple but refreshing meal offered us by the young officer. Whilst we lunched I looked at him when he was not noticing me. He was very young, and his face bore traces of recent suffering. I felt a compassionate tenderness for this unfortunate man, who was crippled for life, and my hatred for war increased still more. He suddenly said to me, in rather bad French, “I think I can give you news of one of your friends.” “What is his name?” I asked. “Emmanuel Bocher.” “Oh yes, he is certainly a great friend of mine. How is he?” “He is still a prisoner, but he is very well.” “But I thought he had been released,” I said. “Some of those who were taken with him were released, on giving their word never to take up arms against us again, but he refused to give his word.” “Oh, the brave soldier!” I exclaimed, in spite of myself. The young German looked at me with his clear sad eyes. “Yes,” he said simply, “the brave soldier!” When we had finished our luncheon I rose to return to the other travellers. “The compartment reserved for you will not be here for two hours,” said the young officer. “If you would like to rest, ladies, I will come for you at the right time.” He went away, and before long I was sound asleep. I was nearly dead with fatigue. Mlle. Soubise touched me on the shoulder to rouse me. The train was ready to start, and the young officer walked with me to it. I was a little amazed when I saw the carriage in which I was to travel. It had no roof, and was filled with coal. The officer had several empty sacks put in, one on the top of the other, to make our seats less hard. He sent for his officer’s cloak, begging me to take it with us and send it him back, but I refused this odious disguise most energetically. It was a deadly cold day, but I preferred dying of cold to muffling up in a cloak belonging to the enemy. The whistle was blown, the wounded officer saluted, and the train started. There were Prussian soldiers in the carriages. The subordinates, the employés, and the soldiers were just as brutish and rude as the German officers were polite and courteous. The train stopped without any plausible reason, it started again to stop again, and it then stood still for an hour on this icy cold night. On arriving at Creil, the stoker, the engine-driver, the soldiers, and every one else got out. I watched all these men, whistling, bawling to each other, spitting, and bursting into laughter as they pointed to us. Were they not the conquerors and we the conquered?