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 of young Germans who had been, unmistakably, soldiers until a few weeks earlier. English-speaking Germans were acting as interpreters, in the exchange of experiences, gossip, opinions. The German girls needed no interpreters. Their eyes spoke, and their laughter.

Brand and I went into an immense café called the "Germania," so densely crowded that we had to wander round to find a place, foggy with tobacco-smoke, through which electric light blazed, noisy with the music of a loud, unceasing orchestra, which, as we entered, was playing selections from "Patience." Here also were many English and Canadian officers, and men, sitting at the same tables with Germans who laughed and nodded at them, clinked their mugs or wine-glasses with them, and raised bowler hats to British Tommies when they left the tables with friendly greetings on both sides. There was no orgy here, no impropriety. Some of the soldiers were becoming slightly fuddled with Rhine wine, but not noisily. "Glad eyes" were passing between them and German girls, or conversations made up by winks and signs and oft-repeated words; but all quietly and respectfully, in outward behaviour.

Brand and I were wedged close to a table at which sat one of our sergeant-majors, a corporal, a middle-aged German woman, and two German girls. One of the girls spoke English, remarkably well, and the conversation of our two men was directed to her, and through her with the others. Brand and I were eavesdroppers.

"Tell your Ma," said the sergeant-major, "that I shouldn't have been so keen to fight Germans if I had known they were such pleasant, decent people, as far as I find 'em at present, and I take people as I find 'em."

The girl translated to her mother and sister, and then answered:

"My mother says the war was prepared by the Rich