“That surprises me,” said Bertram, with an ironical smile; “I always thought the German Armies were broken to bits. First on the Marne, in July ’18. Afterwards like brown paper on August 8th. They could never hold a line again. When the end came they’d lost hundreds of thousands of prisoners, thousands of guns, and the whole war-machine was destroyed. Otherwise there was no need to sign the Armistice, the greatest surrender of any nation in the history of the world, surely?”
It was not a courteous way of speech; not kind. But Bertram was becoming rather tired of this calm forgetfulness of what had happened in history, and he disliked the type represented by General von Althof, one of those hard, bald-headed Prussians, with a mind as narrow as a Brazil nut.
Von Althof became red about the gills, and then very pale.
“Doubtless, as a young regimental officer, you regard local successes as great victories. That is a common error, not difficult to understand. As a General of the German High Command, I repeat, sir, that our glorious Armies were never defeated in the field of battle. The Armistice was forced upon us by revolution at home, and the broken morale of a hungry people.”
“There can be no argument about it,” said one of the younger officers. “It is an accepted fact.”
Bertram made a considerable argument about it, until checked by Dorothy, who was visibly distressed.
General von Althof departed with suppressed rage, after a stiff bow to Bertram, and the other officers took their leave later, so that only a few ladies remained.
One of them was the Fräulein von Wegener, a pretty blonde, who seemed to be Dorothy’s greatest friend.
She crossed over to Bertram, sitting by his side, and her eyes were alight with amusement.
“Of course I don’t think our Armies were defeated—I’m German!—but I adore the courage with which you attacked Von Althof. It made me tremble all over! I have never seen any officer disagree with a General. It isn’t done in Germany. You reminded me of St. George and the Dragon.”