roar and a huge shell
burst two or three hundred yards away. Much earth was torn up, four men
were wounded slightly and an empty ambulance was overturned, but the
regular life of the German army went on undisturbed.

"I told you that we had French messengers now and then," said Lieutenant
Schmidt, holding a glass of beer in his right hand and a sausage in his
left, "but that message was delivered nearer to us than any other in
three days. I don't think they'll fire again for a half-hour, and the
chances are a hundred to one that it will fall much further away. So why
be disturbed?"

Lieutenant Schmidt was beginning to feel happy. He had a sentimental
German soul, and all the beer he wanted brought all his benevolence to
the surface.

"I like you, Castel," he said. "Your blood is French, of course, or it
was once, but you of Lorraine have had all the benefits of German
culture and training. A German you were born, a German you have
remained, and a German you will be all your life. The time is coming
when we will extend the blessings of our German culture to all of
France, and then to England, and then maybe to the whole world."

Lieutenant Schmidt had drunk a great deal of beer, and even beer when
taken in large quantities may be heady. His tongue was loose and long.

"And to that distant and barbarous country, America, too," said John.

"Aye, and to the Americans also," said Lieutenant Schmidt. "I hear that
they don't love us, although they have much of our blood in their veins.
There are many people among them bearing German names who denounce us.
When we finish with our enemies here in Europe we'll teach the barbarous
Americans to love the Kaiser."

"A hard task," said John, with meaning.

"So it will be," said Lieutenant Schmidt, taking his meaning
differently, "but the harder the task the better we Germans love it.
And now, Castel, here comes your passport. Its little winged words will
bear you safely to the headquarters of General Osterweiler thirty miles
to the north and east, and there you'll have to get another passport, if
you can. _Auf wiedersehen,_ Jean Castel. Your forefathers were French,
but you are German, good German, and I wish you well."

Lieutenant Schmidt's cheeks were very red just then, not altogether with
the cold, and his benevolence had extended to the whole world, including
the French and English, whom he must fight regretfully.

"Oh," said John, as an afterthought, although he was