"Well," he answered, "I'll do what I can but I won't promise anything.

I'm not agoing to ask any favors of those people," i.e., the Germans.

"It is not a favor," I replied, "it is your right. For what other reason

is an American Consul if he is not to protect his people, particularly

in wartime?"

"Oh, my dear young lady," he answered, "you must not think that you are

the only American in Liege."

"How many are there?" indignantly.

"Well, three or four," he replied, reluctantly.

That was really too much! I was in despair. What was to be done? Seeing

my hope of freedom vanishing before my eyes, I clutched at the last

straw and entreated him with what eloquence I could whip into line to

make at least some effort to get me the passport by six o'clock, when I

would come again to his house for it.

"Oh, no," he said quickly, "I don't get back here until eight o'clock,

but if you happen to pass by 'The Golden Lion' (or some such name) you

might find me there."

Choking with rage I said to him, "I see that you cannot help me, Mr. Z.,

but if you will be good enough to give me your card (he had already

suggested it) to the German passport department, I will go to the

_Kommandantur_ myself and see what I can do; in fact, I am sure I can

accomplish far more than you." He ought to have been affronted at this

but, on the contrary, seemed jolly well pleased and handed me out his

card in a hurry, glad to relieve himself of the obligation of asking any

favors of "those people."

I then made my way to the _Palais de Justice_. A man accosted me in the

square and told me if I were going for passports it would be of no use,

as there were hundreds and hundreds of people there before me. But I

kept on. With the glorious end in view, viz., to be a free person and to

see the scenes that, in a morbid way, I had begun to feel would never be

my privilege again, I kept on, threading a path through the throngs

until I stood right in front of the guard of the sacred chamber. He was

an enormously fat sentry, with the usual little round cap and fixed

bayonet. I thought he would eat me, he looked so offended, and roared

out, "_Nein, nein, das Zimmer ist voll._" Then was my moment. I pulled

out the little white card and addressed him--not too timidly either, for

hadn't I the great American people behind me? He caught the words,

"American Consul," which drew him up to salute and in the most

lamb-like voice he murmured, "_Ach, ja, Amerikaner_," and let me pass. I

cast one look at the multitude back of me--poor things, who may have

stood there two days already, and I felt despicably mean, as if I were

not playing fair.

Once inside, I was put through a category of questions, worse than an

"Inkwhich." "Why had I come to Liege?" "How long had I been there?" "Why

did I want to go away?" "Where to?" "How?" etc. Finally my inquisitor

became suspicious, or feigned it, and said, "But what have I to prove

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