all preferred travelling third, or even
fourth class, rather than remain another hour where we had suffered so
much. Miss G---- told me afterwards that she had travelled with two
German men, who cursed England up and down, using the most horrible
language about her.

Presently a wounded soldier came into the carriage, and they asked him
where he had been fighting. "On the Western Frontier," said he.

"With the French?"

"Yes."

"Did you see the English?"

"No."

"Of course not! They had all run away. Cowards, cowards!"

These are the things which make life so unendurable in an enemy's
land. I was sent here to the "Hessicher-Hof," which, although it
masquerades under another name, I had no difficulty in recognising as
the former "Englischer-Hof." Miss H---- went to the "Hotel Bristol,"
and when she got there found over the door the one word "Hotel." What
we women should have done without the able committee who arranged all
details for us with such kindness and thoroughness, I cannot imagine.

_September 28th._--There were few tears shed when we steamed out of
Frankfort two days ago on our way to home and freedom. It was
wonderful to feel that we might talk above a whisper in the
railway-carriage; amazing that we had not to scrutinize carefully
every corner to be sure no spies lurked there, and most delightful of
all to know that we had got beyond the reach of the Demon of the
Burg-Strasse. Egotistically enough we went over in retrospect our
anxieties, disappointments and miseries. Should we ever get rid of
that evil shadow, we wondered, which had darkened so cruelly two weary
months of our lives!

Now and then we looked out of the windows with distaste--agreed that
the outskirts of Frankfort were hideous with their obtrusive and
insistent collection of factory chimneys; and shuddered at the distant
and beautiful background of mountain and forest, to us so teeming
with painful memories. We exclaimed at the unsightliness of the huge
skeleton lettering proclaiming to all the world that a _maschinen-Fabrik_
was below. Even when we entered a bucolic region of modest gardens and
saw nothing more aggressive than cabbages and turnips, we turned away
from the sight with aversion. Yet the villages are picturesque enough,
and so are the towns. Timber-framed and gabled houses, steeply pitched
red roofs and stunted grey and mossy church spires, certainly make no
unpleasing picture. In happier days I have admired the grape