“Is it true that England has declared war?”
“So they say. But the Prussians laugh. You have no soldiers, they tell us, and their fleet is nearly as strong as yours. They think they have caught you napping, and that is why they are coming through Belgium. Paris first, then the coast, and they’ve got you. For the love of Heaven, monsieur, is it true that you have no army?”
Dalroy was stung into putting Britain’s case in the best possible light. “Not only have we an army, every man of which is worth three Germans at a fair estimate; but if England has come into this war she will not cease fighting until Prussia grovels in the mud at her feet. How can you, a Belgian, doubt England’s good faith? Hasn’t England maintained your nation in freedom for eighty years?”
“True, true! But the Prussians are sure of victory, and one’s heart aches when one sees them sweep over the land like a pestilence. I haven’t told you one-tenth——”
“Why frighten these ladies needlessly? The gun-fire is bad enough. You and I are men, Monsieur Joos. We must try and save our women.”
The miller was spirited, and the implied taunt struck home.
“It’s all very well talking in that way,” he cried; “but what’s going to happen to you if a German sees you? Que diable! You look like an Aachen carriage-cleaner, don’t you, with your officer air and commanding voice, and your dandy boots, and your fine clothes showing when the workman’s smock opens! The lady, too, in a cheap shawl, wearing a blouse and skirt that cost hundreds of francs!—Léontine, take monsieur——”
“Dalroy.”
“Take Monsieur Dalroy to Jan Maertz’s room, and let him put on Jan’s oldest clothes and a pair of sabots. Jan’s clogs will just about fit him. And give mademoiselle one of your old dresses.”