He attracted little attention, as he sat warming himself before the fire
and listening. People of French sympathies might be in the crowd, but if
so they were silent, because nearly all the talkers were speaking of
German success. It was true that they had been turned back from Paris,
but it meant a delay only, they would soon advance again, and this time
they would crush France. Meantime, von Hindenburg was smashing the
Russians to pieces. John smiled as he gazed into the crackling fire.
After all, the Germans were not supreme. They knew a vast deal about
war, but others could learn and did learn. They were splendid soldiers,
but there were others just as good and they had proved it.
Men came and went through the Inn of the Golden Lion. Sometimes soldiers
and officers as well as civilians sought its food and fire. The day had
turned darker, full of raw cold, and a light hail was falling. John was
glad to have a place in the inn. He reflected that a man's good luck and
bad luck in the long run were about even, and, after so much bad luck,
the good luck should be coming his way. He would certainly remain in the
inn that night if he could, and a bench before the fire would be a
sufficient bed for the peasant he seemed to be, at such a time, with the
city full of troops, and the French batteries almost near enough to be
heard.
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