They crossed the river on pontoons. The Germans were already rebuilding the stone bridge. They seemed to have men to spare for everything. That the bridge was being actually rebuilt, and not made practicable by timber-work only, impressed Dalroy more forcibly than any other fact gleaned during his Odyssey in a Belgium under German rule. There was no thought of relinquishing the occupied territory, no hint of doubt that it might be wrested from their clutch in the near future. He noticed that the post-office, the railway station, the parcels vans, even the street names, were Germanised. He learnt subsequently that the schools had been taken over by German teachers, while the mere sound of French in a shop or public place was scowled at if not absolutely forbidden. There were not many troops on the roads, but crowded troop-trains passed on both sides of the Meuse, and ever in the same direction. Two long hospital trains came from the south-west, and Dalroy knew what _that_ meant. Another long train of closed wagons, heavily laden, as a panting engine testified, perplexed him, however. He spoke of it to Maertz, the three being on the road in company as they climbed the hill to Heron, and the carter promptly sought information from a farmer. The man eyed them carefully. "Where are you from?" he demanded in true Flemish. "What has that to do with it?" grinned Maertz, in the same _patois_. The questioner was satisfied. He jerked a thumb toward the French frontier. "Dead uns!" he said. "They're killing Germans like flies down yonder. They can't bury them--haven't time--so they tie the corpses together, slinging four on a pole for easy handling, ship them to Germany, and chuck them into furnaces." "So," guffawed Maertz, "the swine know where they are going then!" To Dalroy's secret amazement, Irene, who understood each word, laughed with the others. Campaigning had not coarsened, but it had undeniably hardened her nature. A month ago she would have shuddered at sight of these dun trucks, with their ghastly freight. Now, so long as they only contained Germans, she surveyed them with interest. "Allowing forty bodies to one wagon," she said, "there are over a thousand dead men in that train alone." The farmer spat approval. "I've been busy, and have missed some; but that's the tenth lot which has gone east this morning," he remarked cheerfully. "Is the road to Nivelles fairly open?" Dalroy ventured to inquire. "One never knows. Anyhow, always give the next village as your destination. If doubtful, travel by night." This counsel was well meant. In the silent bitterness of hours yet to come, Dalroy recalled it, and wished he had profited by it.