Even German women in the city evidently considered it a proof of loyalty to their hate-preaching ruler to resent hearing the language of a race that had frustrated his ambitions for world-power. On one occasion when two young American women were seated in a tram talking quietly in their native tongue, they noticed two women opposite who glared at them inimically. Presently one called her companion’s attention to them, and, catching their puzzled glance, remarked, quite loud in German: “Isn’t it _tactless_ of them to speak English in Brussels!” Tactless! to speak a language dear to the Belgians, while the German tongue was racking their poor, harassed nerves every moment of the day! That winter was one long series of pitiless impositions, and the execution or imprisonment of helpless inhabitants. Persons, in many cases afterwards proved innocent, were seized on the merest suspicion, or on the false information of an enemy—not only the suspected one, but his entire family and every friend who innocently called at his house, not knowing of his arrest. At times, in punishment for some individual’s act, or because “_La Brabançonne_” was sung by a party of patriots on the Belgian King’s fête-day, the few cafés doing business were closed, and we ordered to retire to our homes at sunset for one week or more. Occasionally such a command was given upon a trumped-up excuse in order that military movements could be carried out unperceived. Nevertheless, flashes of hope gleamed out in encouraging rumours, coming no one knew whence, but spreading like wildfire through the city. Many, many times we heard from _la laitière_, _le boucher_, or _la blanchisseuse_ how the Germans had been driven back into Belgium and were preparing a hasty retreat to their own land! Even as early as March 1915 their retreat from Brussels was represented as being so imminent that we were all anxious to secure one of the sentinel-boxes, striped with the German colours, which stood before all public buildings and were said to be for sale. These were desired as souvenirs, such as no inhabitant of Brussels would have wished for two years later, when the iron of oppression had gone too deep for anyone to want a reminder. The Austrians were said to be _hors de combat_, finished, even before Italy entered the conflict! Germany was pictured as obliged to meet alone forces that she could not resist for more than a week! Then came news of Austrian victories, followed by the fall of Mort-Homme, and hope sank again to despair. A short time later, refugees from a town on the Belgian border reached Charleroi, and word was brought that the Allies had taken the former town and were advancing rapidly toward Brussels. We at once began to prepare for them, and to welcome the young King back to his own! For days a wild but suppressed joy throbbed through the capital. Champagne was drunk in secret, with tears of glad emotion, to King Albert, the British, and the French.