The last word seemed to strike Him.
He repeated it once or twice.
"And these are at Antwerp?" He asked again.
"Yes," I said. "And these"—showing Him more photographs—"are at Bruges. And," I added meaningly, "still standing."
"Yes, you are right," He exclaimed. "It is outrageous. What fool ordered the withdrawal from Belgium, I wonder—with all this work for culture still to do!"
He was furious.
"Not a stone should have been left," He said. "The true Geist must prevail. Every opportunity of proving our enlightenment should have been taken. There will be trouble over this, I can promise you. Leave me now. I must think."
He turned again to the blood-and-iron tonic, and was once more at the mirror when I left. His moustaches had come undone again. Both ends now pointed resolutely to the carpet.