Just as we reach our destination, we run into the man I have come all this way to see. I see a short, dark man, with an alert military bearing. It seems to me that this idol of Brussels is by no means good-looking. Certainly, there is nothing of the hero in his piquant, even somewhat droll appearance. But his eyes! They are truly extraordinary! They bulge right out of their sockets. They have the sharpness and alertness of a terrier's. They are brilliant, humorous, stern, merry, tender, audacious, glistening, bright, all at once. His beard is clipped. His moustaches are large and upstanding. His immaculate dress and careful grooming give him a dandified air, as befitting the most popular bachelor in Europe, who is also an orphan to boot. His forehead is high and broad. His general appearance is immediately arresting, one scarcely knows why. Quite unlike the conventional Burgomaster type is he. M. Max briefly explains that he is on his way to an important meeting. But he will see me at eleven o'clock next morning if I will come to the Hotel de Ville. Then he hurries off, his queer dark face lighting up with a singularly brilliant smile as he bids us "Au revoir!" An historic moment that. For M. Max has never been seen in Brussels since! Of itself, M. Max's face is neither particularly loveable, nor particularly attractive. Therefore, this man's great hold over hearts is all the more remarkable. It must, of course, be attributed in part to the deep, warm audacious personality that dwells behind his looks. But, in truth, M. Max's enormous popularity owes itself not only to his electric personality, his daring, and sangfroid, but also to his _common-sense_, which steered poor bewildered Brussels through those terribly difficult first weeks of the German occupation. Nothing in history is more touching, more glorious, than the sudden starting up in time of danger of some quiet unknown man who stamps his personality on the world, becomes the prop and comfort of his nation, is believed in as Christians believe in God, and makes manifest again the truth that War so furiously and jealously attempts to crush and darken--the power of mind over matter, the mastery of good over evil. From this War three such men stand out immortally--King Albert, Max of Brussels, Mercier of Malines. And Belgium has produced all three! Thrice fortunate Belgium! Each stone that crumbles from her ruined homes seems, to the watching world, to fly into the Heavens, and glow there like a star!