"You ought to be very grateful to us," said the grandmother. "We stopped them, and they hadn't reckoned on that! They thought we were sheep and found we were lions--yes, lions! They even say so themselves!" We willingly acquiesced. In future we shall always be able to count upon the goodwill of the Belgians, for we owe them a debt of gratitude. That is no more solid basis for affection than that which underlies the feelings of a benefactor towards his protégé. Nothing is more soothing to the spirit than a sense of superiority and legitimate pride. There can be no doubt but that the blood so bravely shed for us in Belgium will be productive of more friendship than twenty years of sustained efforts to maintain the French language and culture against the rising tide of Germanization. And, forty years later, when we meet a Belgian, we may be sure that he will remind us, in his pleasing accent: "Yes, but you know ... without us in 1914...." It will be a pleasure to him to recall all that France owes to his glorious little country. More, he will be grateful to us for the debt we owe her. "Oh, of course it has cost us a lot to defend our neutrality," said the old woman. "It is awful what the Germans have done in our country. They seem to have a special hatred for the women. There was one down there.... We knew her quite well.... And they first cut off her breasts ... and then disembowelled her.... And they've done that to countless others! Oh! its too awful! They must be worse than savages. You must tell your people about it, when you get back--about that, and about everything else we've had to suffer. But you won't do the same when you get into Germany, will you?" She added: "I am very old--over seventy--and I had never seen war in Belgium." The poor old woman spoke almost without anger, but in a trembling voice and with infinite sadness. We encamped at Torgny. As soon as the horses had been picketed and the oats distributed, Déprez and I hurried to the wistaria windows to ask if we could buy a little milk and some eggs. The old woman was most upset; it seemed that she had already given everything to the Chasseurs. But she sent us a little farther on to the house of one of her daughters who, she said, would milk the cow for us. She added: "We've a good loft here, where you would be quite comfortable and warm in the straw. So come back to sleep in any case." We knocked at the door she had pointed out to us a couple of houses farther on, and were received as though we had been expected. "It's some artillerymen, mother," said a young woman, who was nursing a child in her arms. "They want some milk." Her mother came out of the next room. "I'll go and milk the cow," said she. "Good evening, messieurs; please sit down; you must be tired." Lucas had somehow managed to find some eggs. "Shall we make you an omelette with bacon?" asked the daughter. "It won't take long. But do sit down. I'm sure you've been standing about enough to-day!"