In a little Breton village, a peasant walked aimlessly about. His eyes strayed to a spot where men were busy loading apples into a railway car; and, at the same time, he perceived a familiar face. Where had he met this man? After some ruminating, it suddenly dawned upon him. Approaching the man, the peasant inquired politely: "Excuse me, monsieur, are you not Lieutenant Knätsch?"
Mighty proud was First Lieutenant Knätsch, who had come to Brittany to buy apples for making German champagne, to have his name and rank remembered; and he...
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