The time passed slowly. I had ended by not
listening at all, thinking of my own misery, when
a louder, bolder voice drew me from my reflec-
tions; I looked: it was Toubac, the station-master
of Bockberg, who was interrupting the conversa-
tion of the Phalsbourgers, who cried, audaciously
thumping the table with his big fist :

“Tt is all very well for you, city people, to talk
now about the miseries of war. You were behind
your ramparts, and when the shells came you ran
into your casemates. No one could take anything

160


Brigadier F rederick


from you. Those whose houses are burned will
receive larger indemnities than they are worth;
the old, worm-eaten furniture will be replaced by
new, and more than one whose tongue was hang-
ing before the campaign can rub his hands and
stick out his stomach, saying: ‘The war has made
me a solid citizen; I have paid my debts and I
pass for a famous warrior because my cellar was
bullet proof. I will devote myself to staying in
my country to buy cheap the goods of those who
are going away with the money from my indem-
nities ; I will sacrifice myself to the end as I have
done from the beginning.’ Yes, that kind of war
is agreeable; behind strong walls all goes well.
