position which raised them above the level of the rest of the men.

In the barrack where they were cutting up bread for the prisoners, we
asked the men if they deeply regretted their captivity. They replied
unanimously that they were "rather glad to be well fed," which seemed an
answer in itself. They did not, however, appreciate the white bread and
stated that they preferred their own black bread. The French officers
commanding the camp treat the prisoners as naughty children who must be
"kept in the corner" and punished for their own good. In all my travels
through France I have never seen any bitterness shown towards the
prisoners. I remember once at Nevers we passed a group of German
prisoners, and amongst them was a wounded man who was lying in a small
cart. A handbag had fallen across his leg, and none of his comrades
attempted to remove it. A French woman, pushing her way between the
guards, lifted it off and gave it to one of the Germans to carry. When
the guards tried to remonstrate, she replied simply, "J'ai un fils
prisonnier là-bas, faut espérer qu'une allemande ferait autant pour lui"
("I have a son who is a prisoner in their land, let us hope that some
German woman will do as much for him").

On the battlefields the kindness of the French medical men to the German
wounded has always been conspicuous. One of my neutral friends passing
through Germany heard from one of the prominent German surgeons that
they were well aware of this fact, and knew that their wounded received
every attention. There is a story known throughout France of a French
doctor who was attending a wounded German on the battlefield. The man,
who was probably half delirious, snatched at a revolver which was lying
near by and attempted to shoot the doctor. The doctor took the revolver
from him, patted him on the head, and said, "Voyons, voyons, ne faites
pas l'enfant" ("Now then, now then, don't be childish"), and went on