It was a fine morning, to which the mist, softening the outlines of the landscape, lent additional charm. The narrow S-shaped road we were following plunged into the valley. The horses made efforts to keep back the guns, and especially the ammunition wagons, which were pushing them down the slope. Their shoes slipping with the dislodged stones, they braced their backs and felt their way cautiously. The river at this point constituted the frontier between France and Belgium. A custom-house official was leaning up against the parapet of the bridge. One of the men called out to him: "No fine linen or lace to-day, old man!" And another: "Suppose there's no duty on melinite, is there?" The official grinned. The first Belgian village, Torgny, afforded a contrast to the French hamlets through which we had been passing since dawn. Our villages are tumble-down, dirty, and redolent of manure and misery. Torgny, on the contrary, was clean and bright, the windows of the houses boasting not only curtains but even, sometimes, embroidered blinds, while the shutters, doors, and window-joists were painted light green. On all sides we were greeted with smiles by the placid and open-faced villagers. Through the windows of the cottages we could see red-tiled floors, and in the semi-darkness of the interiors the glow of brasswork on stoves and lamps reflected by carefully polished furniture. Our column halted in the village, the men carefully wedging the wheels of the vehicles to prevent them from backing down the slope. A woman and a fair, slightly built girl were sitting in front of their house, of which the lower half was a mass of wistaria. We asked them where the road led to, and a conversation began in which not only mother and daughter took part, but also the grandmother, a wizened little woman with a wrinkled face out of which peered a pair of bright brown eyes; she had come out to see what was happening. They talked with a drawling sing-song accent, which nevertheless was in no way disagreeable to our ears. "Have the Germans come as far as this?" "Yes, they've come, only they didn't do any harm.... They hadn't the time. Five or six of them came down from the woods up there--cavalrymen. But they went back almost at once. Some of the villagers saw them. There were also some French cavalry here, in blue and red uniforms." "Chasseurs?" "I suppose so. They are so nice and polite.... At first, as there weren't many of them, we almost quarrelled as to who should have them. When the Uhlans came out of the woods they saw the French and went in again." "And the Belgian soldiers?" "Not seen any of them," said the old lady. "But my granddaughter saw some at Arlon last year." "Yes," chimed in the girl, "and they are better dressed than you." We prepared to make ourselves comfortable in the chairs which had been brought out for us, and chatted while waiting for the order to advance.