LONDON
extremely tired, not having slept for two nights.
But nothing was more necessary than this broadcast
to the Americans, who could still save everything.
The next and following days I went on writing
articles and talks on the same subject.
What struck me in England was the existence,
side by side, of a general and unreserved desire to
serve, and a profound ignorance of the true nature
of the war. When I described the sad processions of
refugees, the bombing of villages, of Paris, the
sufferings of our armies, the strength of the enemy—
all of which I had thought must be self-evident and
common knowledge—I saw with amazement that
my audiences were listening to me as if I were a
being from some other planet.
What follows here will give some idea of this state
of mind. Having received my instructions utterly
without warning and, moreover, having lost every-
thing at Arras and Amiens, I had arrived in London
without any other belongings than a kit-bag with
two shirts and a sponge-bag in it. I had left my
country invaded. I had no idea where my wife and
children were. I was worried almost to despair. The
first English friend I called on realized my distress
despite my endeavours to conceal it. Always sym-
pathetic and understanding, he immediately made
up his mind to be even nicer to me than usual. He
asked me to dinner and then, with a great effort,
said:
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