Looking up the peaceful valley, where the Meuse wound far below in the August sunshine, there lay on the right bank grey rugged rocks descending sheer into the water green and deep, making a sudden bend; while on the left lay green pastures and spreading woodlands, with range upon range of hills away to the blue haze of the frontier of France. Beside the river, the road followed like a white ribbon along its bank, and upon it the dusty old post-diligence, with its four weedy horses and its jingling bells, was travelling, just as it had travelled for two centuries past. Truly that reach of the Meuse was the most rural, peaceful, and picturesque spot in all the Ardennes, and little wonder was it, indeed, that the Baron de Neuville, when the great ruined castle had been offered for sale, had immediately purchased it, and renovated it to its present perfect state.
“I can’t think why father should have made us come here just in these troublous times,” the girl exclaimed petulantly to her mother, a grave, white-haired, well-preserved lady in black, who, seated at the farther end of the room, was busy with her fancy needlework. And then the girl beat an impatient tattoo upon one of the small leaded window-panes with the tips of her slim white fingers.
“Your father thinks it is more pleasant for us here than in Brussels just now, with all the silly excitement in progress, my dear,” the Baroness replied. “I have just had a telegram. He will be here to-night.”
“Does he give any further news of the situation?”
“None.”
“But when we left in the car yesterday, it was believed that we might be at war at any moment,” the girl said.
Her mother, a calm-faced, rather stout woman, and typically Belgian, sighed deeply.
“What will happen we cannot tell, my girl.”
“But if the Germans come, what shall we do?” queried Aimée, for she was thinking of Edmond, from whom she had had a hastily scribbled letter that morning. He had rejoined his regiment as sous-officier, and he said they expected to leave that day for the frontier.
“Do?” echoed the Baroness. “Why, nothing. They will simply march along the valley down yonder, and we shall be quite safe up here. The Germans are, after all, men of culture. They are gentlemen.”