"You are sure none of you have no correspondence, no newspapers?" roared the Colonel. "What is in that bag?" Leaning into the carriage a soldier prodded at _my_ bag. I dared not attempt to speak. My English origin might betray me in my French. I sat silent. I made no reply. I tried to look entirely uninterested. But I was really almost unconscious with dread. But the Red Cross lady replied with quiet dignity that there was nothing in her bag but requisites for the journey. Next moment, as in a dream, I heard that roaring voice shout: "Gut! Get on!" Our driver whipped lightly, the carriage moved forward, and we proceeded on our way, filled with queer thoughts that sprang from nerves over-strained and hearts over-quickly beating. Only Jean remained imperturbable. "Quel Chance! They were nearly all Baverois! Did you see the dragon embroidered on their pouches? The Baverois are always plus gentilles than any of the others." This was something I had heard over and over again. According to the Belgians, these Baverois had all through the War, manifested a better spirit towards the Belgians than any other German Regiment, the accredited reason being, that the Belgian Queen is of Bavarian nationality. When the Uhlans slashed up the Queen's portrait in the Royal Palace at Brussels the "Baverois" lost their tempers, and a fierce brawl ensued, in which seven men were killed. All the Belgians in our old ramshackle carriage were loud in their expressions of thankfulness that we had encountered Baverois instead of Uhlans. So at last that dread mysterious darksome quantity known as "les Allemands," ever moving hither and thither across Belgium, always talked of on the other side of the Belgian lines, but never seen, had materialised right under my very eyes! The beautiful rich Brabant orchard country stretched away on either side of the road, and behind us, along the road, ran like a wash of indigo, the brilliant Prussian blue of the moving German cavalcade making now towards Enghien and Grammont. And now the old professor from Liège drew all attention towards himself. He was shaking and quivering like a jelly. "J'ai peur!" he said simply. "Mais non, Monsieur!" cried Jean. "It's all over now." "_Courage! courage! Pas de danger_," cried everyone, encouragingly. "It was only a ruse of the enemy, letting us go," whispered the Professor. "They will follow and shoot us from behind!" Plaintively, as a child, he asked the fat Brussels banker to allow him to change places, and sit in front, instead of behind. In a sudden rebound of spirits, the Red Cross lady and I laughingly sat on the back seat, and opened our parasols behind us, while the old Brussels banker, when the two fat men had exchanged seats not without difficulty, whispered to us: "And all the while there are a hundred letters sewn up inside the cushion of the seat our friend from Liège is sitting on _now_!" CHAPTER XVI A PRAYER FOR HIS SOUL On we drove, on and on.