It was, fortunately, the last of that particular corporal's work, and he was at liberty to return without delay. A sapper drove, the corporal sitting beside him on the box seat. On the tail-board, with their backs against their precious motor-cycles, sat the two lads, another sapper keeping them company.
As the cart jolted through the village of Jupille there came a dull rumbling, like that of distant thunder.
"Guns!" exclaimed Rollo.
"Thunder, I think," declared his chum.
The Belgian soldier, when questioned, merely remarked in matter-of-fact tones:
"We are blowing up the bridges, monsieur."
The work of demolition had already begun. The Belgian troops, with commendable forethought, had destroyed four bridges across the Meuse in order to delay the momentarily expected German advance. Yet, on either side of the sluggish river, peasants were unconcernedly toiling in the fields.
As the wagon passed the loftily-situated and obsolete fort of La Chatreuse a round of cheering could be heard from the city of Liége. Presently the strains of "La Brabançonne"—the Belgian National Anthem—could be distinguished above the din.
The sapper began to grow excited.
"All is well, messieurs," he exclaimed. "We are now ready for these Prussians. Our Third Division has arrived."