“I will communicate your answer at once to the department of Foreign Affairs,” the officer then remarked.
Three days later, the same officer informed me that he had been chosen to accompany me to Brussels and thence to the frontier of Holland. He appeared particularly happy in anticipation of fulfilling this duty. As to myself, I had no objection to make, as this officer had been in contact with me for more than two years, and it would be preferable to travel with some one with whom I was familiar. Moreover, First-Lieut. Block had united his efforts with my own when I solicited permission to go to Belgium during the long illness of my deceased wife.
I had waited through one week, and then another, when the officer–always the same–arrived one day with a gloomy countenance which reflected bad news for me.
“Bad news?” I inquired.
“Yes,” he said; “bad news, surely.”
“I know what it is,” I said. “They refuse to let me pass through Belgium.”
“You have said it.”
I could not repress a movement of impatience and annoyance.
“How is it possible that such a thing can happen?” I asked. “Didn’t you inform me two weeks ago that the German Government had already decided to let me pass through the occupied territory so that I might go and see my children?”
“Yes,” he said.