Monsieur Segotin's Story
'German' and 'non-German.' Our opponents say that Right is Might. Very good. Then in that case, ha! ha! Might must be Right, and we are mighty, aren't we? But enough of jesting. War is a stern business. Load, aim, fire! And now, Nach Paris! once more.
"Yes, my friend, my fellow hostages and I had plenty to think about as we went to give our masters our morning salute. We knew that, any day, on our arrival at the military headquarters we might be informed that some 'disorder,' some gross infringement of the regulations had occurred—some house door had been blown to by the wind or some candle had been forgotten—and that we were to be shot, by way of breakfast. We knew well that to be a hostage with the German Army was for a man to take the chances of a thousand to one against his not being shot, either by his captors in expiation of some so-called offence by his fellows-citizens, or, more tragically still, by his fellow-countrymen, while being driven in front of the Germans as a living screen. The battle front was far from Saint Hilaire, and this second fate was an unlikely one for any of us. But one never knew. The tide of battle might roll back upon us. And then! Well, meanwhile, our immediate anxiety of every morning was enough for us to deal with. I am an old man and I cared little for life in those days, but even so I could have dispensed with that every-morning doubt. As for my colleague, the shopkeeper, he was very fond of his life, and the thing preyed upon his mind to such
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