I responded to his greeting with all the indifference I could summon up, but, eyeing him suspiciously, my inner self uttered the word "_Pincé_." There could be no doubt about it; I had "got dropped on" at last. Immediately my mind became once more engrossed with thoughts of the loathsome beast I had pictured the Huns to be--a huge octopus, faced by defeat and death, which had begun to suck the last drop of blood out of my unfortunate country by sending tens of thousands of men, women, and children into captivity. Now, at last, one of its tentacles had writhed my way and was about to seize me up! My heart was filled with a fierce hatred of the _feldwebel_ sitting opposite me. A cynical smile seemed to lurk in his eyes--that look of inexorable cruelty which I had seen so often on the faces of the Huns as they went from house to house, dragging sons and daughters from the arms of their aged parents and driving them off into exile with the butt-ends of their rifles. These daily and nightly scenes, terrifying though they were had fascinated me. Should I make a clean breast of it and drag the mask from the rascal's smiling face, or spring at his throat and shake the life out of him? Whilst I was in the midst of these conflicting thoughts the _feldwebel_ drew forth a packet of cigarettes and, having pulled one half out held it towards me with a well-assumed air of good fellowship. "Have a smoke?" he said. "It's a jolly cold day, _mon ami_. One's glad to be indoors to-day--even in a badly-warmed place like this. Mine's a particularly icy job, I can tell you." I accepted his cigarette with the feelings of a condemned man who has been granted his last smoke.... "_Merci!_" I muttered. Then, becoming suddenly bolder, I added, not without a touch of scorn: "Yes; your job _must_ be particularly cold these nights, going from house to house between twelve and one in the morning. How many did you rake in yesterday?" "House to house? How many did I rake in?" repeated the _feldwebel_, reflectively, as he lit his cigarette. His smile quickly developed into a laugh, which would have exasperated me beyond measure had he not hastened to add: "Ah! I see. _Eh bien_, my friend, you're quite on the wrong track. My job is on the water, thank goodness. I've nothing to do with the raids. I've not sunk so low as that yet--and I don't intend to, either. You're a Belgian, aren't you?" "Yes," I replied, still somewhat defiantly. "And you're a German, I suppose?" "_Malgré moi_--in spite of myself. As the saying goes: 'The cowl does not make the monk.' I'm an Alsatian--Baldens by name."