I did
certain work for these men, and in return crossed with them one bitter
night in a thunderstorm into Roumania. At Bukharest I got a good
engagement, and when I had saved a thousand marks, I bought a passport
for five hundred, and came to Serbia, then staggering beneath the great
Austrian offensive.
Once again I was in the horrors of a retreat, but I escaped, reaching
Valona, and crossed to Brindisi, by the aid of a French officer to whom
I told my story and who believed me. His name is Pierre Lemansour, and
he lives at Bordeaux.
If fortune places him in your power, be kind to him, my Karl, for your
Zoe's sake.
I came to Rome; and thence to Paris. I stayed here three weeks, singing
in a cabaret. Whilst here I tried to advance my plans in vain! What
could I, a poor girl, do for the Allies? The Embassy laughed at me, all
except one young attache who tried to make love to me.
Then I thought of England--England, and her cold, hard islanders,
phlegmatic in movements, slow to hate, slow to move, but once
roused--ah! they never let go, these islanders!
One of their poets has said: "The mills of God grind slowly, but they
grind exceeding small."
That, my Karl, is like England.
They are your most terrible enemies, and you know it.
Do not be angry with me when you read this.
For me it is Poland, for you Germany.
Where I am going in a few hours there is no Poland, no Germany, no
England, no war. And perhaps, perhaps, no love.
You and I, Karl, have loved, too well, perchance, but our love was
above even the love of countries.
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