Brand hesitated. He could not forget many things. He knew, so he told me, that he had not yet killed the old hatred that had made him a sniper in No Man’s Land. Many times it surged up again. He could not forgive the Germans for many cruelties. To this girl, then, he hedged a little.
“The future must wipe out the past. The Peace must not be for vengeance.”
At those last words the blue eyes of Elsa von Kreuzenach lighted up gladly.
“That is the old English spirit! I have said to my mother and father a thousand times ‘England is generous at heart. She loves fair play. Now that victory is hers she will put away base passions and make a noble peace that will help us out of our agony and ruin. All our hope is with England, and with the American President, who is the noblest man on earth.’”
“And your father and mother?” asked Brand. “What do they say?”
The girl smiled rather miserably.
“They belong to the old school. Franz and I are of the younger generation ... my father denounces England as the demon behind all the war-devils, and Little Mother finds it hard to forgive England for joining the war against us, and because the English Army killed Heinrich. You must be patient with them.”
She spoke as though Brand belonged already to their family life and would need great tact.
She moved towards the door, and stood framed there in its white woodwork, a pretty figure.
“We have two maidservants for this great house,” she said. “The war has made us poor. Truda and Gretchen, they are called. They are both quarrelling for the pleasure of waiting on you. They are both frightfully excited to have an English officer in the house!”