“He led us into this, and he kept the truth from us. If we had known that it would come to this, we would have made peace months ago. We should not have let our children die for want of food.” But, as regards actual liberty, the revolution had merely substituted one tyranny for another, and that a military one. No doubt things will adjust themselves shortly, and at this time strong discipline was clearly essential. But the individual had very little freedom. The patrols of the Red Guard paraded the streets all day with loaded rifles; at eleven o’clock they entered and cleared the cafés. After that hour they arrested any one they found in the streets. Moreover, they had authority to raid private houses whenever they liked, a privilege of which they frequently availed themselves. Altogether this government of the people by the people did not seem to me so desirable an Utopia, though as a revolution it might be a triumph of order and moderation. Our week of liberty in Mainz passed quickly and pleasantly. It was a coloured, leisured life, a continual drifting from one café to another; we played innumerable games of billiards, listened to the music in the Kaiserhof, sampled all the cinemas, and heard _Der Troubadour_ at the theatre. Just off the main street was a small restaurant where we took all our meals. It was in rather an out-of-the-way spot, and as we were the only officers to discover it, we became during that week a sort of institution. The proprietor struck up quite a friendship with us, and whenever we came in, he used to produce from his cupboard a bottle of tomato sauce. It bore the name of Crosse & Blackwell, and he was very proud of his possession. To offer us a share in it was the greatest compliment he could pay. Our last night there I shall never forget. We came in rather late for dinner, and by the time we had finished it was well after ten, but the proprietor insisted on us staying a little longer. He set us down at the same table as his friends and produced a vast quantity of wine. They were hospitable folk, and two hours’ companionship over a bottle had removed all tendencies to reserve. Opposite me was a German officer who had spent the greater part of his life in England; and his flow of words bore irrefutable testimony to the potency of Rhine wine. “I have lived among you all my life,” he said; “I do not wish to fight against you. I have no quarrel with the English. It is only the French I hate, the bloody French. I would do anything I could to harm them. They hate us and we hate them,” and a man generally speaks the truth when he is drunk. The end of the evening was less glorious. It was well after eleven before we managed to escape after countless _Aufwiedersehens_, and no sooner had we got outside the house than we walked straight into a patrol of the Red Guard, by whom we were arrested, and returned to the citadel under an armed escort.