It would seem that the German army feeds its prisoners, but makes no such provision for its guests.

On the whole I think I should prefer being a prisoner.
We have offered our landlady any amount within reason for a pot of coffee and some toasted bread; but she protests, calling on Heaven to witness the truth of her words, that there is nothing to eat in the house--that the Germans have eaten up all her store of food, and that her old mother is already beginning to starve.

Yet certain appetizing smells, which come down the staircase from upstairs when the door is opened, lead me to believe she is deceiving us.

I do not blame her for treasuring what she has for her own flesh and blood; but I certainly could enjoy a couple of fried eggs.
Nine a.

m.