Through all these years Dr. Bucher was a marked man in the eyes of the German authorities, but he was careful to give them no excuse for violence, and so great was his popularity, owing clearly to his humanity and self-devotion as a doctor, that they preferred to leave him alone.  The German prefect once angrily said to him:  “You are a real poison in this country, Herr Doctor!”—­and not very long before the war a German official to whom he was applying for leave to invite M. Andre Tardieu to lecture in Strasbourg, broke out with pettish exasperation:  “For twenty years you have been turning my hair grey, M. le Docteur!”—­and permission was refused.  At the outbreak of war, he naturally escaped from Strasbourg, and joined the French army; while during the latter part of the struggle, he was French military attache at Berne, and, as I understand, the head of a most successful secret service.  He was one of the first Frenchmen to re-enter Strasbourg, and is now an invaluable liaison official between the restored French Government and the population.

The practical difficulty of the moment, in January last, was how to meet the Alsatian impatience to get rid of their German masters, bag and baggage, while at the same time maintaining the ordinary services.  Every night, meetings were being held in the Strasbourg squares to demand the immediate departure of the Germans. “Qu’ils partent—­qu’ils partent tous—­et tout de suite!” The French officials could only reply that if an immediate clearance were made of the whole German administration—­“we can’t run your trains—­or carry your posts—­or deliver your goods.”  But the German employes were being gradually and steadily repatriated—­no doubt with much unavoidable hardship to individuals.  Strasbourg contained then about 65,000 Germans out of 180,000.  Among the remaining German officials there was often a curious lack of realisation of what had happened to Germany and to them.  “The Germans are very gauche—­their tone is still just the same!” And the Doctor described a scene he had witnessed in one of the bureaux of the prefecture only the day before.  A German official was at his desk.  Enter an Alsatian to make an inquiry about some point in a bankruptcy case.  The German answered him with the curt rudeness which was the common official tone in old days, and finally, impatiently told the applicant to go.  The Alsatian first opened his eyes in astonishment, and then—­suddenly—­flamed up. “What!—­you think nothing is changed?—­that you are the masters here as you used to be—­that you can treat us as you used to treat us?  We’ll show you?  We are the masters now.  Get out of that chair!—­Give it me!—­while I talk to you.  Behave civilly to me, ou je vais vous flanquer un coup dans le dos!” And the Alsatian went threateningly forward.  But the German looked up—­grew white—­and said slowly—­“Monsieur—­you are right!  I am at your service.  What is your business?”