and I had become acquainted with them through him. They talked in
the new strain of their type, that they might as well be under the
British or French, as under their own Government.

Their voices were low--a rare event where Germans gather at table.
They did not plot, they merely grumbled incessantly. The end of
the war had definitely sunk below their horizon, and peace, not
merely steps to peace, was what they longed for. There was the
customary cursing of the Agrarians and the expressions of resolve
to have a new order of freedom after the war, expressions which I
believe will not be realised unless Germany is compelled to accept
peace by superior forces from without.

I left the dreary room for the dreary streets, and turned towards
the centre and West-end of Berlin, where the _cafe_ lights were
bright and tinkling music made restricted menu-cards easier to bear.

Suddenly the oppressive feeling of the East-end was dispelled by
the strains of military music drawing closer in a street near by.
I hurried towards it, and saw a band marching at the head of two
companies of wounded soldiers, their bandages showing white under
the bright street lights of Berlin.

The men were returning to their hospital off the Prenzlauer Allee
from a day's outing on the River Spree. Scores of followers
swelled to hundreds. The troubles of the day were forgotten. Eyes
brightened as the throng kept step with the martial music. A roll
of drum, a flare of brass, and the crowd, scattered voices at
first, and then swelling in a grand crescendo, sang _Deutschland
uber Alles_. To-morrow they would complain again of food shortage