“From Germany?”
“Yes,” answered the girl, after an instant’s scrutiny of the woman’s face.
“Then you are fugitives? Ah, do not fear to tell me,” she added, as the girl hesitated. “I have no love for the Germans. I have lived near them too long!”
There could be no doubting the sincerity of the words, nor the grimace of disgust which accompanied them.
“Yes,” assented the girl, “we are fugitives. We are trying to get to Liège. Have the Germans been this way?”
“No; I have seen nothing of them, but I have heard that a great army has passed along the road through Verviers.”
“Where is your man?”
“He has joined the army, as have all the men in this neighborhood.”
“The German army?”
“Oh, no; the Belgian army. It is doing what it can to hold back the Germans.”