She offered to take me to see him in an hour's time, and so it was that I managed to get into a German military hospital. I lunched in a large restaurant, in which the places of the waiters called to the colours had been taken by Kellnerinnen. To judge from the food I had the cook's place must have been taken by a shoemaker.
I was rather surprised to find that the hospital was a luxurious private house. I learned afterwards that the proprietor, a wealthy officer, had equipped it as an emergency nursing home for officers, and offered it to the Government. There was no difficulty in being admitted, as my friend was quite out of danger, his wounds being a light one in the face and a serious one in the knee-cap. The little white camp beds were arranged in two lines on both sides of a large sitting-room. The nurses were ladies of the best Berlin society, and seemed to add to the skill of a perfect nurse the tactful ways of a lady of quality.
After the natural surprise of my friend at our meeting in such extraordinary circumstances, he told me how he had been wounded at the very beginning of the campaign, practically without being able to do any fighting. He said that the Germans only realised that they would have to fight in Belgium when they were already on Belgian soil. The cavalry, marching in front without any artillery support, received the most serious shock. The German Government was so sure that the intimidation of Belgium would be successful that the siege guns had been sent in the direction of the French frontier.
I asked him what he thought of the position of his country at the present moment. He smiled sadly and said:
"Here, in the hospital, we only know what the newspapers say; and, of course, they are very optimistic. We officers know perfectly what our forces and the forces of our enemies are. It is certain that we are going to struggle to the very last. You know how I, personally, love France; but, of course, I will go to fight again as soon as I am better--if I am ever in condition to fight."
He said this sadly, showing me his leg, which perhaps will be crippled for ever. And he concluded in French, the language we used to speak at a time we both thought an officer was only a kind of sportsman who wore a uniform. "Enfin même si c'est un suicide il faut l'faire et on va l'faire!" He gave me some introductions to officers still in Berlin, and we parted; our last word was au revoir.... Where and when we shall meet again, what our country will be then, the blood of how many thousand men will be wasted before that day is in the hands of a mysterious future.