A car drives up with four busbied officers. The Belgian guides. The Commandant speaks to them a moment. They drive on. He re-enters the Gendarmerie, comes out a moment later, locks the door and casts a lingering, almost affectionate glance at the yellow, black and red flag floating proudly from the masthead. He is wondering, perhaps, if he will ever see it again. Mounting his horse, he waves his hand to the villagers, and is off on his sixty-mile ride to Arlon. Brave Commandant of the nonchalant mien, but not brave enough to face those last good-byes. How I feel for you!
The day wears on. Already the end of the high road where it turns to Malempré is piled high with trees. The Noah’s-ark firs on the highway to Bomale have come toppling down like ninepins. My thoughts turn to weapons. I never dream for an instant but that the peasants will fight the common enemy from behind those bulwark barricades. It seems the only natural and proper thing to do. I know nothing of the duties of non-combatants.
A man from a neighbouring village drives up in his cart. He gets down and feeds his horse with hunks of black bread which he tears from the loaf. I feel ashamed not to be armed. He may help. I approach him.
“Have you a spare rifle?” I ask wistfully.
He stares at me stupidly. “A rifle? No,” he says. “Why?”
“I could help to shoot the Germans,” I suggest.
“It’s a pity,” he answers, and his mouth twists in a grin as he turns back to feed his horse.
I have never held a rifle in my hands. But I feel convinced that the mere sight of a loathsome Teuton would make the most difficult and antiquated weapon go off of its own accord.
Madame Job’s little girl, Rosa, was sent back from Liège some days ago. The school is turned into a hospital, and the good nuns are acting as nurses for the wounded. Rosa’s German fellow-pupils are left behind. They will presently enjoy the novel sensation of being shelled by their own countrymen.
Rosa runs about the house like an elf and sings. For a pupil of the Sisters at the Orphelinat de St. Joseph she is very lively. Youth has the happy knack of living in the present. She and Louisa take it in turns to act at “Prussien,” the fashionable game. They submit with a good grace to be chased and well thumped on capture by Victor and René, the aubergiste’s son.