At last we arrived at Enghien, and found ourselves in a little brown straggling picturesque village on a hillside, full of peasants, who were gathered in a dense crowd in the "grand place," which was here the village common. They had come in out of the fields, these peasants, stained with mud and all the discolourations of the soil. Their innocent faces spoke of the calm sweet things of nature. But mixed with the innocence was a great wonder and bewilderment now. All this time, ever since we left Ghent, we had never seen a Belgian _militaire_. That of itself told its own story of how completely we were outside the last chance of Belgian protection.--outside _la dernière ligne_. CHAPTER XIII THE LUNCH AT ENGHIEN Dear little Enghien! I shall always remember you. It was so utterly-out-of-the-ordinary to drive to the railway station, and have one's lunch cooked by the stationmaster. A dear old man he was, that old grey-bearded Belgian. A hero too! His trains were stopped; his lines were cut; he was ever in the midst of the Germans, but he kept his bright spirits happy, and when Jean ushered us all in to his little house that formed part of the railway station, he received us as if we were old friends, shook us all by the hand, and told us, with great gusto, exactly what he would give us. And he rolled the words out too, almost as though he was an Italian, as he promised us a _bonne omelette,_ followed by a _bon bif-steak_, and fried potatoes, and cheese, and fruit and a _bon café_! Then he hurried away into the kitchen, and we heard him cracking the eggs, while his old sister set the table in the little dining-room. We travellers all sat on a seat out in front of the railway line, under the sweet blue sky, facing green fields, and refreshed ourselves with little glasses of red, tonic-like Byrrh. It was characteristic of those dear Belgian souls that they one and all raised their little glasses before they drank, and looking towards me said, "_Vive l'Angleterre!_" To which I responded with my tiny glass, "_Léve la Belgique!_" And we all added, "_A bas le Kaiser!_" And from across the fields the noise of the battle round Ninove came towards us, louder and louder every moment. As we sat there we discussed the cannonading that now seemed very near. So loud and so close to us were the angry growlings of the guns that I felt amazed at not being able to see any smoke. It was evident that some big encounter was going on, but the fields were green and still, and nothing at all was to be seen. By now I had lost all sense of reality. I was merely a figure in an extraordinary dream, in which the great guns pounded on my right hand, and the old stationmaster's omelette fried loudly on my left. Jean strolled off alone, while two of the ladies of the party went away to buy some butter.