om
Birmingham, which he gave her to understand was a glorified Lille. She
found him very earnest, very self-centred in his worship of
efficiency. As he had striven for his class of boys, so now was he
striving for his platoon of men. In a dogmatic way he expounded to her
ideals severely practical. In their few casual conversations he
interested her. The English, from the first terrible day of their
association with her, had commanded her deep admiration. But until
lately--in the most recent past--her sex, her national aloofness and
her ignorance of English, had restrained her from familiar talk with
the British Army. But now she keenly desired to understand this
strange, imperturbable, kindly race. She put many questions to the
sergeant--always at the kitchen door, in full view of the courtyard,
for she never thought of admitting him into the house--and his
answers, even when he managed to make himself intelligible, puzzled
her exceedingly. One of his remarks led her to ask for what he was
fighting, beyond his apparently fixed idea of the efficiency of the
men under his control. What was the spiritual idea at the back of him?

"The democratization of the world and the universal brotherhood of
mankind."

"When the British Lion shall lie down with the German Lamb?"

He flashed a suspicious glance. Strenuous schoolmasters in primary
schools have little time for the cultivation of a sense of humour.

"Something of the sort must be the ultimate result of the war."

"But in the meantime you have got to change the German wolf into the
_petit mouton_. How are you going to do it?"

"By British efficiency. By proving to him that we are superior to him
in every way. We'll teach him that it doesn't pay to be a wolf."

"And do you think he will like being transformed into a lamb, while
you remain a lion?"

"I don't suppose so, but we'll give him his chance to try to become a
lion too."

Jeanne shook her head. "No, monsieur, wolf he is and wolf he will
remain. A wolf with venomous teeth. The civilized world must see that
the teeth are always drawn."

"I'm speaking of fifty years hence," said the sergeant.

"And I of three hundred years hence."

"You're mistaken, mademoiselle."

Jeanne shook her head. "No. I'm not mistaken. Tell me. Why do you want
to become brother to the Boche?"

"I'm not going to be his brother till the war's over," said the
sergeant stolidly. "At present I am devoting all my faculties to
killing