“My first visit,” said Bertram. “I arrived to-day.”
“So? You will find people friendly to you as an Englishman. We admire your sporting instincts, if I may say so without offence. You have chivalry to your enemy.”
“I hope so,” said Bertram, coldly, thinking of the propaganda of hate in some part of the English press, yet resenting a little this praise of England from a German officer.
“In the war your men bore no grudge after the fight. I was a prisoner after Cambrai, in ’17. Your ‘Tommies’ gave me cigarettes when I was captured, and I was generously treated. I am pleased to acknowledge that.”
“Our prisoners were not well-treated in Germany,” said Bertram.
“Perhaps that was so, here and there,” said the officer. “We hadn’t much food to spare. We were all on half-rations towards the end.”
“There was great brutality in some of the camps,” said Bertram.
“Doubtless some of our prison commandants were brutal. We have not yet reached the stage of the English in good humour. I admit that, in spite of our Kultur!”
He laughed frankly, and then halted.
“You are now in Dorotheenstrasse, at Number 20. Good-night and good luck.”