Meanwhile our driver's passport with his photograph was being examined.
"Who is this?" shouted the silly old German Colonel, pointing to the photograph.
"C'est moi," replied the driver, and his expression seemed to say, "Who on earth did you think it was?"
The fat Colonel, who obviously did not understand a word of French, kept roaring away for one "Schultz," who seemed to be some distance off.
The roaring and shouting went on for several minutes.
It was a curious manifestation of German lack of dignity and I tried in vain to imagine an English Colonel roaring at his men like that.
Then "Schultz" came galloping up. He acted as interpreter, and an amusing dialogue went on between the roaring Colonel and the young dashing "Baverois," who was obviously a less brutal type than his interrogator.
The old banker from Brussels was next questioned, and his passport to come in and out of Brussels being correctly made out in German and French, the Germans seized upon Jean and demanded what he was doing there, why he was going to Brussels, and why he had been to Grammont. Jean's answer was that he lived in Brussels and had been to Grammont to see his relations, and "Schultz's" explanations rendered this so convincing that the lawyer's passport was handed back to him.
"You are sure none of you have no correspondence, no newspapers?" roared the Colonel. "What is in that bag?"
Leaning into the carriage a soldier prodded at my bag.