He had a most obnoxious substitute in the person of the interpreter, Lieutenant M——, the motorist, who was a worthy counterpart of my friend M—— of the Andania—not only “temporary Lieutenant,” but also “temporary gentleman.” His family came from Frankfurt-on-the-Main; he was director of a strolling troupe before the war, and he did nothing to disguise his base disposition. I believe the English Colonel regarded him with the utmost contempt, and the English sergeants, with whom we occasionally exchanged a few words in the canteen, begged us to believe that all English officers were not like this Mr. M——.
One evening, towards the end of June, we had a delightful adventure. Outside the barbed wire a herd of wild deer—roebucks and fawns—used to assemble in their hundreds, and ran about as tame as goats.
That evening, a darling little fawn, which had lost its mother, ran past the wire fence, and, attracted by our alluring calls, it cleverly wriggled through the defences into the camp. The fawn was surrounded and petted (the huntsmen growled), and lastly it was carried in triumph in the arms of a Lieutenant into the batmen’s room, where we intended to rear it.
God knows how M—— heard of it. At any rate he sent for the German Camp Adjutant, and said in a voice that shook with anxiety:
“Lieutenant S., is it true that there is an animal in the camp?”
“Yes, sir; an animal.”
“Has it come in through the wire entanglements?”
“Yes; it simply crept through.”
“Oh, this is dreadful!” remarked Mr. M——, and he seemed to lose his voice altogether. “I must at once see the hole through which the big beast has crawled. I am convinced that the German officers have cut the wire in order to escape. The animal must also be at once removed.”