While Madame de H. was waiting to see Count Moltke in his office, I walked about the court with one of the soldier attendants who came with us and had an opportunity of peeking through many doors which would otherwise have been closed to me. My companion, who is a wholesale grain merchant in peace times, enjoyed his authority immensely and dragged his sword, half unbuckled, on the ground, which clanked behind us and made merry music in his ears, I am sure. The whole place was a perfect beehive though there was little confusion. The soldiers were diligently counting supplies, feeding horses and sorting Belgian cannon and shells which had been captured. On the road from Angleur to Liége we were obliged to give way to some troops which were returning from Namur. The auto stopped right in the middle of a column, which, as we heard, was a conglomeration of the tag ends of different regiments and I was almost afraid--the men peered in at us so maliciously. I have never seen such a frightening spectacle of humanity, for it was the personification of a rogues' gallery with every kind of cut-throat, brigand and robber mixed up into a grand ensemble, toiling and perspiring, limping and crawling along in the dust and heat. Does battle blot out the soul of a man in one savage conflict? Obviously, it is before a weary march that one finds exalted faces. But perhaps they were not desperadoes--only tired and dirty and unshaven. It is said, however, that when war was declared, the enemy opened the doors of all the prisons and that the front ranks of the attacking forces (which were sure to be lost) were entirely composed of convicts and prisoners. And also, the officers in the regular army are so hated by their men that when they started out to conquer the world every officer was changed to a different regiment. This evening we sat on the terrace enjoying the afterglow of the setting sun and the calmness of the garden, listening to the soldiers singing in the orchard, next. This singing in the twilight is heartbreaking and particularly melancholy, as the music is slow and has more consolation in it than the usual soul-inspiring quality of battle hymns. At intervals we heard the captain speaking with great force and enthusiasm, the hurrahs of the men, an occasional "_Vaterland, Vaterland_," and again and ever, "_Die Wacht am Rhein._" _August 26th, Wednesday._ Two new officers (not Prussians) of the _Landstürm_ arrived this morning--men of fifty to fifty-five years of age. One is a hardware merchant _en civil_ and has a brown beard and the asthma; the other is a lawyer, with big, blinking eyes--and they both looked as if they hated war. The "Englishman" is still here--his department is looking after supplies at the dépôt. He has borrowed all the English books in the house and sits reading all day up in the signal box at the station, so the family have named him "_Monsieur Seegnal Box_," which, with a tiny, French accent, sounds quite attractive.