same moment and only seven of the poor beasts remained. His admiration

for the pointing and firing of the Belgian and French cannon was


Just before lunch this morning, two very ragged-looking individuals

(Belgian civilians) came to the chateau. They were travel-stained

indeed, just having made the journey on foot from Brussels and in a

calmer era would have had some success in the role of common ordinary

tramps. As it was, they excited a little curiosity by the suspicious way

they had of looking about, and our first thought was spies until one of

them, edging toward the outside of the group, made Baronne de H.

understand that he had something to communicate to her. Inquiring if it

were safe, he suddenly leaned down and drew out from the sole of his

shoe, a piece of paper on which was written, "A banker of Brussels sends

greetings--all are well." The little woman burst into a flood of tears

for she realized that it was a message from her husband, one of the

_Garde Civique_ of Brussels. During the three, long, anxious weeks of

devotion to others, I had often remarked and wondered at her courage in

never mentioning her own longing and apprehension for her husband and

three little children. Before we had recovered from the first onslaught

of the army, she must have known, after it left here, that it would

pass their chateau three kilometres the other side of Brussels and what

would it leave in its wake? Can you imagine her anxiety, when every day

we were hearing frightful stories of children having their hands chopped

off and people's heads being paraded on bayonets? But I never remember

her uttering a single "I wonder," or an "I wish." Does this not bear out

what the illustrious Roman said about the "Belgians," which certainly

did not exclude the women? It is the grandest thing that ever could

be--this response of the women to the Nation's call, for it is not just

passive self-sacrifice, but impassioned co-operation.

In the afternoon Madame de H. and I went to Liege to arrange her

passport for Brussels. Two of the officers who are here offered to go

with us in order to facilitate an entrance into the "_Kommandantur_,"

which is the general headquarters and is in that ancient and beautiful

place of the _Princes-Eveques_, onetime feudal lords of the principality

of Liege. I wanted to rebel openly when I saw that wonderful court,

world-famous for its beauty, which has been turned into a depot of

supplies and barracks with horses stabled under those delicate, Gothic

arches, models of purity and beauty. But to what good? Will anything

ever expiate the offense? There are also horses in the theatre and

machine guns in all the upper windows.

While Madame de H. was waiting to see Count Moltke in his office, I

walked about the court with one of the soldier attendants who came with

us and had an opportunity of peeking through many doors which would

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