The soldier was yelling again. I could not tell what he said.
'He says if we don't run we can't come at all,' said Emil.
'I won't run,' I said.
So we hurried forwards, over the bridge, where the soldier on guard was
standing.
'Do you want to be shot?' he said angrily, as we came up.
'No, thanks,' I said.
Emil was very serious.
'How long should we have had to wait if we hadn't got through now?' he
asked the soldier, when we were safely out of danger.
'Till one o'clock,' was the reply.
'Two hours!' said Emil, strangely elated. 'We should have had to wait
two hours before we could come on. He was riled that we didn't run,' and
he laughed with glee.
So we marched over the level to the hotel. We called in for a glass of
hot milk. I asked in German. But the maid, a pert hussy, elegant and
superior, was French. She served us with great contempt, as two
worthless creatures, poverty-stricken. It abashed poor Emil, but we
managed to laugh at her. This made her very angry. In the smoking-room
she raised up her voice in French:
'_Du lait chaud pour les chameaux._'
'Some hot milk for the camels, she says,' I translated for Emil.
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