A few days spent there in safety, and almost in idleness, were, however, sufficient to make Max and Dale, and especially the former, restless and dissatisfied with their inactivity. The onward march of the Germans, their terrible unscrupulousness and rapacity, and the tales of the terrific fighting with the English and French vanguards reached their ears and made them long to be doing something, however small, to aid the great cause. Max, in addition, had a constant sense of irritation at the thought that his father's great works were running night and day in the interests of the Germans and to the vast injury of his own countrymen. He could not get away from the feeling that he had a responsibility towards the Durend works—a responsibility which he seemed in honour bound to discharge. This feeling grew and grew until it became so intolerable that he was impelled to announce to his mother that he must, without delay, return to his post in the stricken city.
"But surely you have done enough, Max?" cried Madame Durend, almost in consternation. "You are not yet of man's age, and ought not to think of taking upon yourself such fearful tasks. It is no fault of yours that our property is being used by the Germans. Many other factories and workshops besides ours have been seized, and who can fairly put the blame upon the owners?"
"I know, Mother," replied Max in a quiet voice, and with a far-away look in his eyes. "I know it is no fault of ours. But our workmen—the faithful and real Belgian workmen—are there bearing alone in silence the pain and misery of seeing the great business they helped to create worked to the destruction of their own liberties. They feel nothing so much as the thought that their masters have deserted them, and left them to fight the battle for their land and liberties alone. I must go back and join them, if only to let them know we are with them, hand and foot, heart and soul. I feel, Mother, that so long as one workman still holds out against tyranny and oppression, the owners of the Durend workshops must be by his side to give him both countenance and aid."
Max's voice grew stronger, and thrilled with a deeper and deeper earnestness, as he went on. It was clear to each of his hearers that the guardianship of his father's works had become the one great object and aim of his existence. With such a burning, passionate desire in his heart, it was almost impossible that he could be persuaded to abandon his project if he were not to be rendered miserable for life, and Madame Durend realized almost at once that she dare not attempt it. But the thought of the desperate character of the undertaking made her mother's heart sink with dread.
"I dare not say you nay, Max, my son," she said tremulously, after a long pause, "for I should feel that I was setting my own wishes against what is, perhaps, your duty to your country, and still more your duty to your dear father's name. Go, then—only do not—do not run unnecessary risks. Be as cautious as you can—and come back to me often."
"We will be as cautious as we honourably can, will we not, Dale?" cried Max, appealing to his friend. "It is stratagem that we shall use in making our war—not force. We have thought it all out together, and hope to give a good account of ourselves without giving the Germans a chance to pay us back with usury."
"Yes," replied Dale cheerfully, "we are not going to give the enemy a chance. Why, you have no idea how cautious and full of dodges Max is. He just bristles with 'em, and I think we shall give Schenk and his friends a warm time."
Madame Durend sighed deeply. "It seems terrible to me to think of two such boys returning to that dreadful place to do battle unaided with those men. How I pray that you may come safely back!"
"No fear of that," cried Dale confidently, and Max gazed into his mother's face and nodded reassuringly.
The next day they left the hospitable streets of Maastricht and arrived safely in Liége, still in their disguises as Walloon workmen. A visit to a clever hairdresser before they left had completed their disguise. Their fresh complexions were hidden beneath a stain that darkened the skin to the tints of the swarthiest Walloons of the Liége district.