To get to Brussels we must drive by the roads all the way.
CHAPTER XI
BRABANT
It was like a chapter out of quite another story to leave the train at Grammont, and find ourselves in the flagged old Brabant square in front of the station, that hot glittering end-o'-summer morning, while on the ear rose a deafening babel of voices from the hundreds of little Belgian carts and carriages of all shapes and sizes and descriptions, that stood there, with their drivers leaning forward over their skinny horses yelling for fares.
The American hurried to me, as I stood watching with deep interest this vivacious scene, which reminded me of some old piazza in Italy, and quite took away the sharp edge of the adventure—the sharp edge being the Germans, who now were not very far away, judging by the dull roar of cannon that was here distinctly audible.
The American said: "Ma'am, I have found this little trap that will take us to Brussels for fourteen francs—right into Brussels, and there is a seat for you in that trap if you'd care to come. I'd be very pleased and happy to have you come along with me!"
"It is awfully good of you!" I said.
I knew he was running great risks in taking me with him, and I deeply appreciated his kindness.
But Jean remonstrated, a little hurt at the suggestion.