It was as though the Germans felt themselves on the losing side. Almost hourly they were pressed back, while great masses of wounded soldiers were being brought from the battle-lines and hurried off to the hospitals.
"This does not seem like another Sedan," Bob heard one officer say to another. "It is all those English; they fight like devils, and yet they are as cool as men on parade. Instead of advancing, we are going backward. Unless there is a change, we shall be driven out of the country."
"They shall pay for it later, never fear," said another. "When we have once beaten them, France will be ours, and England crushed like an empty eggshell."
"When we have beaten them," was the doubtful response.
What Bob suffered it is impossible to say; how he longed to be back among his comrades in the fighting-line, I cannot put into words.
He knew by the questions which were constantly asked him that they thought he would be in a position to render them invaluable service; that was why he had special treatment.
At the end of three days, however, he knew that this special treatment was over, and by the looks that were cast towards him, he felt sure that the doom he expected would be his. He would be packed off to a German prison.
"What is to become of me?" he asked one of the officers, who had constantly been plying him with questions.
"You'll know to-morrow morning," was the curt reply.
As may be imagined, Bob had, during the whole time, sought eagerly for a means of escape; but this seemed impossible. All around him were vast hordes of men, and he knew that any movement towards liberty on his part would mean instant death. Yet he determined to try, and hour by hour had formulated his plans.