‘Hurrying on, we met two priests coming from Ypres. We stopped to ask advice. They told us that our undertaking was decidedly dangerous. There was hardly a person left in the town; they had gone in in the morning to see if they could be of any use, and were now leaving, not daring to stop the night. They told us that there was still one priest who remained in the establishment of the mad people, just outside Ypres, and that we could always call on him, if we could not manage to reach our convent; but they added that he also was leaving the next day with all his poor protégés. We made up our minds to risk all; so, asking the priests’ blessing, we went our way. Other people tried in vain to make us turn back, especially two men who assured us we should never be able to accomplish our project. We thanked them for the interest they showed in our behalf, and asked them if they would be so kind as to call at the convent at Poperinghe and tell Mother Prioress not to be anxious if we did not return that night, and not to expect us till the next day. We were now approaching the cross-roads which had proved so fatal on Wednesday. A Belgian officer on a bicycle stopped to ask where we were going. We told him. He said it was simple madness to think of doing such a thing. He had been with his soldiers trying to mend the roads a little farther on, and had been obliged to leave off on account of the shells which were flying in all directions. We thanked him, but said we would risk it all the same. Arriving on the high road, we soon found ourselves in presence of a French policeman who asked where we were going. “To Ypres!” was the determined reply. “No one can pass. You must go back.” What were we to do? We determined to go on. Were there no means of getting in by another way? While we stood as though rooted to the ground, we caught sight of a French Chasseur on the other side of the road, who seemed to have some authority, and who was trying to console a woman and two weeping children. We immediately applied to him, and told him our distress. He answered kindly, but told us, all the same, that he was afraid we should not be able to enter Ypres. We begged to be allowed to continue, if only to _try_. He smiled and said: “If you _really_ wish it, then pass on.” And on his writing down a passport, we went on triumphantly. It seemed as though God were helping us.