I soon had an opportunity of learning, for the boy August came in.
“Don’t you know,” he said winking. “That’s her beau!”
In due course Karl arrived, a smart young sergeant from a Dragoon regiment. He spent two days with us and though he was almost constantly with Miga, he frequently found time to joke with me about the mud on the Somme, soldiers’ fondness for beer, the capitalist bandits, et cetera; giving me a cigarette on each occasion. Like most soldiers from the front, he had less of the air of superiority toward prisoners of war than the civilians. He regarded the war as simply a rotten business for all parties concerned and avoided talking seriously on any topic.
For Miga it was a happy two days. The night before his departure, he went out to say goodbye to some friends, and she broke into tears.
“Silly, ain’t it?” observed Erna to me grinning, as Miga went weeping to her bedroom.
Miga drove with him to the station the next morning and we all turned out to see them off.
“Give my regards to my brother,” I said, “if you meet him on the Somme.”
“Ja wohl!” he answered laughing, “I’ll fetch him over to keep you company.”
He shook hands with everybody else and exchanged salutes with me. We watched them drive away, and Mutter stood silently at the gate long after the trap had vanished in the distance.
I saw no more of Miga after she returned until the next afternoon—she was confined to her bed with lovesickness. It was Kaffeetrinken time when she appeared again at the table. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were swollen. She ate in silence until the rest had left the table, and then waited to speak to me.