Great Britain, of France--and of America!

At the beginning of March these last words could not have been added.
There was an American professor not far from me at dinner, and we
discussed the "blazing indiscretion" of Herr Zimmermann's Mexican
letter. But he knew no more than I. Only I remember with pleasure the
general tone of all the conversation about America that I either engaged
in or listened to at Headquarters just a month before the historic
meeting of Congress. It was one of intelligent sympathy with the
difficulties in your way, coupled with a quiet confidence that the call
of civilisation and humanity would very soon--and irrevocably--decide
the attitude of America towards the war.

* * * * *

The evening at the Château passed only too quickly, and we were sad to
say good-bye, though it left me still the prospect of further
conversation with some members of the Intelligence Staff on my return
journey from Paris and those points of the French line for which, thanks
to the courtesy of the French Headquarters, I was now bound.

The last night under the little schoolmistress's quiet roof amid the
deep stillness of the village was a wakeful one for me. The presence of
the New Armies, as of some vast, impersonal, and yet intensely living
thing, seemed to be all around me. First, as an organisation, as the
amazing product of English patriotic intelligence devoted to one sole
end--the defence of civilisation against the immoral attack of the
strongest military machine in the world. And then, so to speak, as a
moral entity, for my mind was full of the sights and sounds of the
preceding days, and the Army appeared to me, not only as the mighty