Yet, busy as the Germans were, and feverishly concentrated on their new activities, they still found time to carry out their system as applied to their endeavours to win the Belgian people's confidence in their kindness and justice as Conquerors! They paid for everything they bought, food, lodging, drink, everything. They asked for things gently, even humbly. They never grumbled if they were kept waiting. They patted the children's heads. Over and over again I heard them saying the same thing to anybody who would listen. "We love you Belgians! We _know_ how brave you are. We only wanted to go through Belgium. We would never have hurt it. And we would have paid you for any damage we did. We don't hate the French either. They are '_bons soldats_,' the French! But the '_Englisch_' (and here a positive hiss of hatred would come into their guttural voices), the '_Englisch_' are false to _everyone._ It was they who made the war. It is all their fault, whatever has happened. We didn't want this war. We did all we could to stop it. But the '_Englisch_' (again the hiss of hatred, ringing like cold steel through the word) wanted to fight us, they were jealous of us, and they used you poor brave Belgians as an excuse!" That was always the beginning of their Litany. Then they would follow the Chant of their victories. "And now we are going to Calais! We shall start the bombardment of England from there with our big guns. Before long we shall all be in London." And then would come the final strain, which was often true, as a matter of fact, in addition to being wily. "I've left my good home behind me and my dear good wife, and away there in the Vaterland I have seven children awaiting my return. So you can imagine if _I_ and men like me, wanted this war!" It was generally seven children. Sometimes it was more. But it was never less! The system was perfect, even about as small a thing as that! CHAPTER XLVI THE FLIGHT INTO HOLLAND For five wild incredible days I remained in Antwerp, watching the German occupation; and then at last, I found my opportunity to escape over the borders into Holland. There came the great day when François managed to borrow a motor car and took me out through the Breda Gate to Putte in Holland. Good-bye to Ada, good-bye to Henri, good-bye to Lenore, Jeanette and la grandmère! I knew now that Madame X. could be trusted to the death. She had proved it in an unmistakable way. In my bag I had her Belgian passport and her German one also. I was passing now as François' wife. The photograph of Lenore stamped on the passport was sufficiently like myself to enable me to pass the German sentinels, and Lenore, dear, sweet, lovable Lenore, had coached me diligently in the pronunciation of her queer Flemish name--which was _not_ Lenore, of course. As for my own English passport, Monsieur X. went several times to the young Danish Doctor asking for it on my behalf.