The bandage tightened on his wound. "Ah," he said.
I replied to him: "It is your Kaiser who is the cause of all this."
"Oh, no. Not the Kaiser. The Kaiser. Oh, the Kaiser." As he pronounced the word "Kaiser," he seemed to be letting something very good come out of his mouth, as if he were savoring it.
The bandage went round once more. "Ah," he said.
"It is then his son, the Crown Prince, who is responsible?" I continued.
"Not at all. Not at all; it is France."
"France is peace-loving," I replied.
"It is Serbia, because the Austrian Archduke was killed by a Serbian."
The 29th or 30th of the month shells fell occasionally over our roof. My famous wounded German was frightened.
"My sister, I must be carried to the cellar at once."