We jogged on to Louvain at a rate of not quite three miles an hour. Here and there we had to wait a half or a whole hour to let trains from Brussels pass. The reason why the train went so slowly was because a week before a Belgian patrol had daringly broken through the outposts and destroyed the railway near Lovenjool. That village was then burned down completely and the vicar made a prisoner. Near Louvain the train had to stop for another two hours, before it was allowed to enter the station, which was quite close by. I thanked my stars that at last I got rid of my companion, who travelled on to Brussels, whereas I got out at Louvain. It was too late to be allowed to walk in the streets, but the commander gave me an escort of two soldiers, who were to take me to the mission house of the Fathers of the Sacred Heart. It was very cold that evening, and the outposts at Heverlee had all wrapped themselves up in blankets. Once or twice we were stopped, but the password of my escort removed all difficulties. "Is it much farther?" one of my armed guides asked. "No, only a couple of minutes." "I am thirsty. I should like very much to have a glass of beer." "Yes," I replied, "but everything is closed." "Yes, yes, but we shall like it also to-morrow, hi, hi, hi!" It is as if the curse of drink always pursued the garrison in Louvain, for when and wherever I met German soldiers in that town, or came into touch with them, they were always drunk. That evening, also, I was glad when I arrived at the mission house, tipped the men, and got rid of them until the next day. The Fathers were already in bed, but I soon got them out again. Within ten minutes I was enjoying what, in the circumstances, was a splendid meal, and the Fathers were absorbed in the daily and illustrated papers which I had brought for them. The conditions at Louvain were the same as some weeks ago: hunger and misery. Some male prisoners had come back, and also over 150 female prisoners, who for more than a month had been in captivity in the Munster Camp. During the last days a real reign of terror ruled. Hostages were continually claimed, and nearly always they took clerics. The week before the people had feared a new destruction. It was said that there had been shooting again, but happily the inquiry showed that a German soldier did it, and he was punished. The shot had been fired in front of the Josephite convent. * * * * * A remarkable strike had taken place in the Leo XIII Hospital. The head of this institution, Dr. Tits, also had been taken as a hostage. It was the most blackguardly act one can think of, to take away the man who had spent night and day mostly nursing wounded Germans. Dr. Noyons found it so harsh that he took counsel with the other doctors, and they decided not to resume work before Dr. Tits came back. This of course happened immediately.