They moved their seats afterwards, but it did not make any difference. Wherever they sat, they stuck up like huge black pillars, calling attention to us in what seemed to me a distinctly undesirable way. Two horses we had for our long drive to Brussels, and uncommonly bony horses they were. Our carriage was a species of long-drawn-out victoria. It had an extra seat behind, with its back to the horses, a horrid, tilting little seat, as I soon discovered, for it was there that I found myself sitting, with Jean beside me, as we started off through the golden Saturday morning. Jean and I had each to curl an arm round the back of the seat; otherwise we should have been tipped out; for a tremendously steep white hill-road, lined with poplars, began to rise before us, and we were in constant danger of falling forward on our noses. But the only thing I cared about by then, was to sit next to Jean. He seemed to be my only safeguard, my only hope of getting through this risky adventure. And in low voices we discussed what I should do, if we did indeed meet the enemy, a contingency which began to grow more and more probable every moment. All sorts of schemes were discussed between us, sitting there at the back of that jolting carriage. But it was quite evident to both, that, though we might make up a plausible story as to why I was going to Brussels, although I might call myself an American, or an Italian, or a Spaniard (seeing that I could speak those languages well enough to deceive the Germans, and seeing also that I had the letter to the Spanish minister in my bag from the Vice-Consul at Antwerp), still, neither I nor Jean could do the one thing necessary; we could not produce any papers of mine that would satisfy the Germans if I fell into their hands. "But we're not going to meet them!" said Jean. He lit a cigarette. "You had better give me all your papers," he added airily. "What will you do with them?" He smoked and thought. "If we meet the Germans, I'll throw them away somewhere." "But how on earth shall I ever get them again? And suppose the Germans see you throwing them away." I did not like the phrase, "throw them away." It seemed like taking from me the most precious thing in the world, the one thing that I had firmly determined never to part with--my passport! But I now discovered that Jean had a thoughtful mood upon him, and did not want to talk. He wanted to think. He told me so. He said, "It is necessary that I think out many little things now! Pardon!" And he tapped his brow. So I left him to it!