And yet the prevailing note of the people we met along that road was still gaiety, rather than sadness or terror. "_Il y a des Allemands?_" "_Il y a de danger?_" We went on perpetually with our questions, and the answers would come back laughingly with shakings of the head. "No! Not met any Germans!" or: "They are fighting round Ninove. We've been making détours all the morning to try and get out of their way!" And now the road was so steep, that Jean and I jumped down from our sloping seat at the back and walked up the hill to save the bony horses. Every now and then, we would pause to look back at that wide dreamlike view, which grew more and more magnificent the higher we ascended, until at last fair Brabant lay stretched out behind us, bathed in a glittering sunlight that had in it, that day, some exquisitely poignant quality as though it were more golden than gold, just because, across that great plain to the left, the fierce detonations of heavy artillery told of the terrific struggles that were going on there for life and death. Presently we met a couple of black-robed Belgian priests walking down the hill, and mopping their pale faces under their black felt hats. "The Germans are all over the place to-day," they told us. "And yesterday they arrested a train-full of people between Enghien and Hall. They suspected them of carrying letters into Brussels. So they cut the train lines last night, and marched the people off to be searched. The young men have been sent into Germany to-day. Or so rumour says. That may or may not be true. But anyway it is quite true that the train-load of passengers was arrested wholesale, and that every single one of them was searched, and those who were found carrying letters were taken prisoners. Perhaps to be shot." "_C'est ça!_" said Jean coolly. We bade the priests good-bye, and trudged on. Jean presently under his breath, said: "I've got a hundred letters in, my pockets. I'm taking them from Antwerp people into Brussels. I suppose I shall have to leave them somewhere!" He smiled, his queer high-up smile, showing all his white teeth, and I felt sure that he was planning something, I felt certain he was not going to be baulked. At the top of the hill we got into our trap again, and off we started, travelling at a great rate. We dashed along, and vehicles dashed past us in the opposite direction, and I had the feeling that I was going for a picnic, so bright was the day, so beautiful the surroundings, so quick the movements along the road. "At Enghien," said Jean, turning round and addressing the other people in the carriage (by now they had all made friends with each other, and were chattering nineteen to the dozen), "at Enghien we shall get lunch!" "But there is nowhere that one finds lunch at Enghien," protested the fat Brussels banker. "I promise you as good a lunch as ever you have eaten, and good wine to wash it down!" was Jean's reply.