But to return to the flags; on this glad day even the poorest had their banners prepared in time to welcome their heroic King, and multitudes gathered to acclaim his glorious return. All work ceased; even the tramway employés, important as were their services on such a day, refused large bribes rather than forgo a personal view of the wondrous scene—and no one could blame them! As there were no horses nor vehicles to be had, the stoppage of trams made matters difficult for those living at a distance. But they walked, some nearly all night, in order to secure points of view in those localities through which the King was to pass with his cortège of troops. Such crowds I have never seen; they were as impassable as a stone wall in the streets; packed close on church steps, on the cornices of buildings, on trees, at windows, on the roofs. It was a day never before known, a day never likely to return. It must be owned that the vocal enthusiasm was considerably less than one, an American especially, could have expected. The cries at first were rather brief and spasmodic, the waving of handkerchiefs and so forth more the exception than the rule. There was none of that mad acclamation which would have welcomed, or rather will welcome, returning troops in America, none of the frenzied excitement with which we had seen French troops applauded when departing from Paris. The reason of this, no doubt, was the people’s inability to grasp an event in such tremendous contrast to the four years’ sorrow which had eaten into their very souls. They had, so to speak, forgotten the meaning of joy—were too much dazed and overwhelmed by indefinable emotion to express themselves adequately. However, when King Albert appeared, riding, and beside him his young wife—who looked rather worn after her hospital labours—tremendous acclamations arose from the massed crowds. These were repeated for Mayor Max, just returned from imprisonment, and for General Leman, the hero of Liège. Then, after a brief pause, the acclamations rose again to salute the American troops,—which were honoured with first place behind the royal cortège,—the British, French, and Belgians. Over these last brave legions enthusiasm was shown rather than uttered; emotion seemed to check the cries, as though the vast throngs were holding their breath. Then, after a moment of extraordinary silence, there was a universal electric movement, as though that mighty crowd longed to embrace them as one man. The people could scarcely be held back from breaking the lines of troops. Old women, with scranny, bare arms uplifted, ran forward to touch them lovingly; men white with emotion, sweethearts and wives, reckless of danger, almost threw the procession into confusion by their eagerness to be recognized, or exchange a word with the brave heroes returning from a hell such as they probably never expected to survive.