‘The Headquarters had left the town, we had therefore a long way to go. In town, there was ever the same movement of troops, but the aspect seemed still more mournful. The shells had begun their work of destruction on the Grand’Place. A corner of the Halles had been struck. A house had received a bomb on the roof, which, penetrating the building, carried away half of the front, making its way through ceilings and floors, throwing the furniture to right and left, carrying chairs down into the very cellar. The people standing around were looking on aghast. We passed on, but soon a poor woman stopped us: “And you Sisters, from where do you come?”--“We are the Irish Dames of St. James’s Street.” “Oh yes! I know the convent well. Are you also leaving?”--“I am afraid we shall be obliged to do so!”--and we continued our walk. We had already turned off into another street, when we heard hurried steps behind us, and some one crying out: “Sisters, Sisters! Zusters, Zusters!” It was the good woman again, with her kind face, her big handkerchief round her head, and her blue Flemish apron. “Zuster! Don’t leave the town, come home with me, we are poor, but still you can have my house and all I have.”--“Good woman,” I said, taking her two hands, “thank you a thousand times, do not be anxious for us. Our Lord will take care of us.” I could have kissed the dear creature then and there. We could not stop. Soon a crowd blocked our passage. “A shell struck here last night” they explained to us--it was the Cercle Catholique--“and penetrated into the cellar where a poor man had taken refuge with his three children, thinking he would be more protected here than in his own home, and there is his house (just two buildings farther on) untouched. The man has his hand off, two children are killed, and the third, a girl, is dying!”