For the first time for days I felt safe, and when Lenore (Madame X.) and her husband promised to come and stay there with me, and bring Jeanette and the old grandmère from the hospital I was greatly relieved. In fact if it had not been for the Danish Doctor I should have been quite happy.
They all came in that afternoon, and Henri too, and how grateful they were to get into that nest.
We quickly decided to use only the kitchen, and Lenore and her husband shewed such a respect for the beauties of the house, that I knew I had done right in bringing the poor refugees here.
Through the barred kitchen windows, from behind the window curtains, we watched the endless rush of the German machinery. Occasionally Germans would come and knock at the door, and Lenore would go and answer it. When they found the house was occupied they immediately went away.
So I had the satisfaction of knowing that I was saving that house from the Huns.
The haunted noontide silence of my solitary walk seemed like a dream now. Noise without end went on. All day long the Germans were rushing their machineries through the Chaussée de Malines, or Rue Lamarinière, or along the Avenue de Kaiser. At some of the monsters that went grinding along one stared, gasping, realising for the first time what les petits Belges had been up against when they had pitted courage and honour and love of liberty against machinery like that. Three days afterwards along the road from Lierre two big guns moved on locomotives towards Aerschot, suggesting by their vastness that immense mountain peaks were journeying across a landscape. I felt physically ill when I saw the size of them. A hundred and fifty portable kitchens ensconced in motor cars also passed through the town, explaining practically why all the Germans look so remarkably well-fed. Motor cycles fitted with wireless telegraphy, motor loads of boats in sections, air-sheds in sections, and trams in sections dashed by eternally. The swift rush of motor cars seemed never to end.
Yet, busy as the Germans were, and feverishly concentrated on their new activities, they still found time to carry out their system as applied to their endeavours to win the Belgian people's confidence in their kindness and justice as Conquerors! They paid for everything they bought, food, lodging, drink, everything. They asked for things gently, even humbly. They never grumbled if they were kept waiting. They patted the children's heads. Over and over again I heard them saying the same thing to anybody who would listen.
"We love you Belgians! We know how brave you are. We only wanted to go through Belgium. We would never have hurt it. And we would have paid you for any damage we did. We don't hate the French either. They are 'bons soldats,' the French! But the 'Englisch' (and here a positive hiss of hatred would come into their guttural voices), the 'Englisch' are false to everyone. It was they who made the war. It is all their fault, whatever has happened. We didn't want this war. We did all we could to stop it. But the 'Englisch' (again the hiss of hatred, ringing like cold steel through the word) wanted to fight us, they were jealous of us, and they used you poor brave Belgians as an excuse!"
That was always the beginning of their Litany.
Then they would follow the Chant of their victories.