“It’s only for a quarter of an hour, Fräulein,” they say sullenly, still harnessing the horse.
“Have you orders?”
Silence. Obviously they have no orders....
More soldiers are heard in the street. An orderly rushes into the yard. “The army is coming,” he says.
The men leave the horse and cart and hasten away. The orderly turns to us and asks for food. We bring out a few vegetables. He pays with German money and the usual parrot cry of satisfied complacency, “Alles wird bezahlt.”
He repeats again, “The army is coming.”
I ask, “Who are commanding?”
He replies, “All are here, all, all.” Then as an afterthought—“Except the Crown Prince. He is at Belfort.”
“Wounded?” I ask. The rumour has even reached us here.
“No more than you nor me,” says the orderly as he goes smiling away.