As it was, the pair stood in utter ignorance of the sharp watchful eyes upon them, and in the silence of the night, continued in low undertones their assurances of affection.
Away across the river—beyond the ruins of the old Château of Crève-Coeur—a fierce red light rose until it glared in the night sky, the toll of war paid by the poor defenceless peasantry, to those barbaric hordes of “kultur” who were sweeping across Belgium with rapine, fire, and sword. At no crime or outrage, torture or desecration, were those hirelings of the Master Criminal of Earth now hesitating. The modern Judas, who had stretched out the hand of friendship to Great Britain, to Russia, to France and to Belgium, falsely proclaiming himself the Apostle of Peace, and endeavouring to blind the world to his true intentions, had now revealed himself as the world’s bitterest, most dastardly, and most low-down enemy, who was making what he was pleased to term “frightful examples” in an endeavour to terrify and to stagger humanity.
“I fear that you will not be able to telephone to your father, darling,” Edmond was saying. “Only an hour ago communication was again interrupted. Some Uhlans have cut the wires, I suppose. They do so every day. Your only chance will be to try and get through to Brussels yourself—only it is so far away, now that there is no rail or motors—sixty miles, or more.”
“But what shall I do?” she asked. “What do you advise, Edmond?”
What could he advise? He stood before her, unable to reply.
So engrossed were they in their conversation that they did not notice that, after the sentry had passed across the square to the corner of the narrow Rue Grande, up which Aimée had trudged, the dark civilian figure in the doorway had slipped across the Grand Place, and was again engulfed in the shadows.
“You can go no further to-night, dearest,” he said. “You know this place—Dinant. Why not go to the Hôtel de l’Epée yonder, up the street, and remain there till morning? Then I will get permission to come and see you, and we can decide upon some plan.”
“Ah! yes!” she cried. “Uncle François! I know the dear old fellow. His son was in our service as chauffeur two years ago. What an excellent idea! Yes. I will go at once. But without money will he take me in?” she queried with hesitancy.
“Never fear, darling?” he laughed. “The daughter of the Baron de Neuville has unlimited credit in any town in Belgium. But alas?” he added, “I must go, sweetheart, for I have to deliver an immediate message, and obtain a reply. I may be too late if I do not hurry.”
“Yes—go, Edmond,” she said, just a little reluctantly. “Carry out your duty. I know my way to Uncle François’ quite well. Au revoir!”