“Vraiment?” he replied, with a scarcely perceptible smile of ironic wonderment.
“Yes; they were sent to me by my fiancé, the officer who—obtained them from your house.” Her lips trembled as she sought for a less objectionable word than “stole” to express the deed. “I am having them all returned to you—every item. They have not even been unpacked.”
“Ah!” The Belgian stared, unable to imagine the object of this astounding statement from one of a race he believed devoid of honour.
But, without a word of encouragement, the noble girl related her story in a brave but unsteady voice, broken, toward the end, by tears that did much to soften his bitter feelings. The objects referred to, carefully packed in cases, had reached her after a letter from her fiancé relating how he had procured them. How he put it, she did not reveal; but her reply was a determined and high-spirited refusal to accept them. She had come to Brussels in order personally to see the victim of this robbery, and obtain his word of honour that he would never divulge her fiancé’s name in connection with the affair.
My friend was so greatly impressed and touched by the admirable courage and fineness of her confession, that he readily gave the promise, and I believe no power could force him to break it!
XI
THE Belgian race, in general, is possessed of a certain philosophic patience under calamity, engendered, no doubt, by the fact that their country has so often served as the battlefield of other nations. Though hating their oppressors, they seldom, even in private, uttered any emphatic expression of hatred; and such criticism as was spoken was characterized by admirable, sometimes amazing fairness.