sadly shocked; one or two secretaries of Allied correspondents haughtily resigned their positions. But the afternoon tea at the Adlon showed the same gathering of sleek, well-dressed Germans of both sexes, by no means averse to genial chats with enemy guests in or out of uniform. There was no means of forming definite conclusions as to whether the nation had been stunned with the immensity of the tragedy that had befallen it or whether these taciturn beings had some secret cause for satisfaction hidden away in their labyrinthine minds. Later I was assured that many had stayed up all night, waiting for the first draft of the terms. Südermann explained the apparent apathy with, “We Germans are not like the French; we mourn in the privacy of our homes, but we do not show our sorrow in public.” Certainly the Boche has none of the Frenchman’s sense of the dramatic, nor his tendency to hysteria. An observer reported that the “epoch-making first meeting of the National Assembly at Weimar opened like the unfinished business of a butchers’ lodge.” Once, during my absence from the capital, there was a flurry of excitement, but nothing to cause me to regret my presence elsewhere. The “demonstration” against the Ally-housing Adlon proved upon my return to have been serious chiefly in the foreign press. At the most genuinely German restaurant the head waiter had on the same date informed an American woman that her guests would no longer be welcome if they came in Allied uniforms, and that English would not be spoken—then took her whispered order in that language behind a concealing palm. Dodgers were dropped from airplanes on the capital one day, protesting against a half-dozen articles of the treaty, demanding the immediate return of German prisoners, and ending with the query, “Shall noble Germans be judged by Serb murderers, Negro states, Japs, Chinese, Siamese?...” Billboards blossomed out with highly colored maps showing the territory that was being “stolen” from the Empire. But the populace seemed to give little attention to these appeals. Ludendorff called the Allied correspondents together and broke the record for short interviews with, “If this is what they mean by Wilson’s Fourteen Points, our enemies can go to hell.” Up to date they have not fully complied with the general’s proposal. Haughty Richard Strauss declined to waste words on his Allied fellow-guests at the Adlon. On May 9th several of the Berlin dailies admitted at last, “We are conquered.” Had their staffs been more efficient they might have shared that news with their readers several months earlier. On the third Sunday in May, when the subject would long since have grown cold among less phlegmatic peoples, I attended a dozen meetings of protest against the peace terms in as many parts of the city. Nothing could have been more ladylike, silent, orderly, and funereal, with the possible exception of the processions that formed after the meetings were over and plodded noiselessly down