Trains were passing all day loaded with provisions, as well as soldiers and sailors who were sticking on like caterpillars all over the roofs, the sides, the steps and almost the wheels. I saw two of them dancing the tango on the top of one carriage. Then came car after car of prairie wagons, we call them, with voluminous, white, canvas hoods, loaded with provisions; after these, countless, giant cannon decorated with branches, flowers and flags, mounted on open trucks without sides. All this procession was a weird phenomenon gliding by in the sky like a mirage, for the road-bed at the rear of the château is very high and is hidden by intervening shrubs and bushes so that the wheels of the cars are quite concealed. It reminded me of those Amazon warriors in "_Die Walküre_" who slid up to Heaven so smoothly on their wooden horses at the Opéra in Paris. Dropping from the poetical plane to common cause and effect, the whole gave the impression of being well lubricated--like the wheels of Destiny which turn steadily on with few jerks or hitches. _September 9th, Wednesday._ The word is said. We are packing our bags to leave for Brussels tomorrow. When I went to the Convent this morning, I found all the soldiers in bed and looking so wretched. Merciful Heaven! What blight could have fallen on our children over night? But it was a farce. They had heard that the officers of the regiment, here, were coming to inspect the wounded with the idea of sending those who are well enough on to Germany as, of course, they are prisoners. So the moment the Germans entered the courtyard, all the _blessés_--even those who are quite well--hopped into bed with their clothes on, pulled the covers up to their chins and with a wet compress on their heads, looked as ill as possible. It was comical to see; one can be a soldier and comedian at the same time--and even the dear Sisters enjoyed it. But I was paralyzed with fear. They had not thought of another side of the question to which the very impudence of their ruse might subject them. I was very sad to say good-bye to these brave fellows who have been to all the world such a lesson in bravery and patience during their suffering. One big, lanky _garçon_--Jean, in fact--was quite undone at our departure. He refused to be consoled with the promise of postal cards in some future era and wept and sobbed, but I managed to understand between the sobs that he was saying, "_Mais, Mademoiselle, je vous suis habitué._" (But, Mademoiselle, I am used to you.) I do not know if this was meant for a compliment, but I took it as such and wept too. _September 10th, Thursday._ This morning was spent in finishing packing, which usually is the biggest part of it, I find.