Next moment, hanging on to Henri's arm, I found myself outside in the corridor walking towards the staircase. "Courage!" whispered Henri in my ear. Suddenly I ceased to be myself; I became a peasant; I was Henri's wife. These little girls were mine. I leaned on Henri, I clutched my little girl's fingers close. I felt utterly unafraid. I thought as a peasant. I absolutely precipitated myself into the woman I was supposed to be. And in that new condition of personality I walked down the wide staircase with my husband and my children, passing dozens of German officers who were running up and down the stairs continually. I got a touch of their system. They moved aside to let us pass, the poor little pie-coloured peasant, his anxious wife, the two solemn children with flowing hair. The hall below was crowded with Germans. I saw their fair florid faces, their grim lips and blazing eyes. But I was a peasant now, a little Belgian peasant. Reality had left me completely. Fear was fled. The sight of the sunlight and the touch of the fresh air on my face as we reached the street set all my nerves acting again in their old satisfactory manner. "Courage, Madame!" whispered Henri. "Don't call me Madame! Call me Louisa!" I whispered back. "Where are we going?" "To a friend." We turned the corner and crossed the street and I saw at once that Antwerp as Antwerp has entirely ceased to exist. Everywhere there were Germans. They were seated in the cafés, flying past in motor cars, driving through the streets and avenues just as in Brussels, looking as if they had lived there for ever. "Voici, Madame!" muttered Henri. "Louisa!" I whispered supplicatingly. CHAPTER XLIV CAN I TRUST THEM? We entered a café. I shrank and clutched his arm. The place was full of Germans, but they were common soldiers these, not Officers. They were drinking beer and coffee at the little tables. "Take no notice of them!" whispered Henri. "You are all right! Trust me!" We walked through the Restaurant, Henri and I arm in arm, and the little girls clinging to our hands. They really played their parts amazingly, those little girls. "I have found my wife from Brussels," announced Henri in a loud voice to the old proprietor behind the counter. "How are things in Brussels, Madame?" queried an old Belgian in the café. But I made no answer. I affected not to hear. I went with Henri on through the little hall at the far end of the café. Next moment I found myself in a big, clean kitchen. And a tall stout woman, her black eyes swimming in tears, was leaning towards me, her arms open. "Oh, poor Madame!" she said. She clasped me to her breast.