We had come to apprise him of his present status as a citizen under the protectorate of America.
Van Hee approached the subject casually with the remark: "You see, you are not a Frenchman!"
"No, I am not a Frenchman," the quailing fellow mechanically repeated.
"And you are not a Belgian," resumed Van Hee.
He was not quite sure about disclaiming that, but he saw what was expected of him. So he faltered: "No, I am not a Belgian." "And you are not an Englishman, eh?" According to formula he answered: "No, I am not an Englishman!" but I sensed a bit more of emphasis in the disavowal of any English taint to his blood.
Van Hee was taking this process of elimination in order to clear the field so that his man could grasp the fact that he was to all intents an American, and at last he said:
"No longer are you a German either."
The poor fellow was in deep seas, and breathing hard. Everything about him proclaimed the fact that he was a German, even to his field-gray uniform, and he knew it. But he did not venture to contradict Van Hee, and he whispered hoarsely: "No, I am not a German either."
He was completely demoralized, a picture of utter desolation.
"If you are not German, or Belgian, or French, or English, what are you then?"