Judith, who had been leaning forward in the carriage, intent upon the scene, turned suddenly towards Worth.
"Let us get out!"
"Do you care to? You are not too tired?"
"No. I want to see."
He opened the door and stepped down on to the cobbles, and turned to give his hand to her. She stood beside him while he spoke with the coachman, and then took his arm. They made their way slowly across the Place. No one paid any heed to them; occasionally a soldier brushed past them, or they had to draw aside to allow a wagon to go by, or to pick their way through a tangle of ropes, canteens, corn-sacks, bill-hooks, nose-bags, and all the paraphernalia of an army on the move.
They reached the farther side of the Place at length, and stood for some time watching order grow out of the confusion. Regiments were forming one after the other, and marching down the Rue de Namur towards the Namur Gate. The steady tramp of boots made an undercurrent of sound audible through the shrill blare of the trumpets and the ceaseless beat of the drums. Some of the men sang; some whistled; the riflemen began to form up, and a voice from their ranks shouted: 'The first in the field and the last out of it: the bloody, sighting Ninety-fifth!" A roar went up; hundreds of voices chanted the slogan. Indifferent-eyed Flemish women, driving market-carts full of vegetables into Brussels from the neighbouring countryside, stared incuriously; an order rang out; another regiment moved forward.
Once Worth bent over Judith, asking: "Are you not tired? Shall we go home?"
She shook her head.
At four o'clock the sun was shining. In the Park, the pipes were playing Hieland Laddie. The sound of them drew nearer, the tread of feet grew to a rhythmic thunder. The Highland Brigade came marching through the Place in the first rays of the sunlight pipe-majors strutting ahead, ribbons fluttering from the bagpipes, huge fur headdresses nodding, and kilts swinging.
"Were they some of those men who danced for us tonight?" Judith asked, recognising a tartan.