until the
season of Pentecost, 1914, that I went to Luxembourg again, intending to
gather material for a report on the flourishing steel industry there,
which had developed some new processes, and to get a little
trout-fishing on the side. During that pleasant journey two things
happened which opened my eyes.

The first was at a luncheon which Prime Minister Eyschen gave me. It was
a friendly foursome: our genial host; the German Minister, Von B.; the
French Minister, M.; and myself. Mr. Eyschen's wine-cellar was famous,
and his old Luxembourg cook was a wonder; she served a repast which made
us linger at table for three hours. The conversation rambled everywhere,
and there were no chains or padlocks on it. It was in French, English,
and German, but mostly in French. One remark has stuck in my memory ever
since. Mr. Eyschen said to me: "You have heard of the famous
'Luxembourger Loch'? It is the easiest military road between Germany and
France." Then he continued with great good humor to the two gentlemen at
the ends of the table: "Perhaps one of your two countries may march an
army through it before long, and we certainly cannot stop you." Then he
turned to Herr von B., still smiling: "Most likely it will be your
country, Excellenz! But please remember, for the last ten years we have
made our mining concessions and contracts so that they will hold,
whatever happens. And we have spent the greatest part of our national
income on our roads. You can't roll them up and carry them off in your
pocket!" Of course we all laughed. But it was serious. Two months later
the French Minister had to make a quick and quiet flight along one of
those very roads.

A couple of days after the luncheon, at the beginning of June, I saw a
curious confirmation of Eyschen's hint. Having gone just over the German
border for a bit of angling, I was following a very lovely little river
full of trout and grayling. With me were two or three Luxembourgers and
as many Germans, to whom fishing with the fly--fine and far off--was a
new and curious sight. Along the east bank of the stream ran one of the
strategic railways of Germany, from Koln to Trier. All day long
innumerable trains rolled southward along that line, and every train was
packed with soldiers in field-gray--their cheerful, stolid bullet-heads
stuck out of all the windows. "Why so many soldiers," I asked, "and
where are they all going?" "Ach!" replied my German companions, "it is
Pfingst