Suddenly, I uttered a cry. Over yonder, on the front of a convent, a big German flag was floating insolently in the wind. I rushed forward, but the soldiers had already preceded me, and the Colonel stamped on the accursed emblem. Our eyes shone with joy and hope. This sight was a symbol to us. We saw in it German power laid low, Right triumphant, Belgium delivered, and we were filled with absolute confidence.... Piff! paff! There was fighting going on over yonder and these detonations exasperated us. We rushed forward spontaneously in a wild, disorderly chase, crying out: "Long live the King!" The Boches occupied the heights at the other side of the town. They greeted our vanguard with a violent firing, but fortunately it was badly aimed. Our Battalion rushed to the rescue. Just as we were turning the corner of a street and entering the zone swept by the firing, the first ranks hesitated for an instant. Then, and never shall I forget that sight, the standard-bearer rushed forward, holding our flag high with its three colours unfurled. Electrified, the men rushed like a whirlwind, the clarions sounded the assault, and a confused clamour rang out: "Hurrah, Hurrah for Belgium!" The irresistible stream of our troopers gained the heights. The men were mad with fury, for the sight of the German atrocities had exasperated them. They hurried on, their hearts overflowing with rage. "No prisoners! No quarter! Death to the bandits!" Curses rang out on all sides. The men's faces were hard, savage, pitiless. "They shall be cared for, their wounded!" I heard someone say. I turned round and saw our doctor. The expression of his eyes scared me. A veritable flame of hatred had been lighted in all hearts. "Yes, we are ready for anything. No pity! No conventions. So much the worse for them. They have brought it on themselves! It is their punishment!" An immense joy took possession of us and transported us, the joy of the idea of snatching from the invader a shred of our national territory. * * * * * A pitiful troop of German prisoners was halting on the road. The sun was scorching. Our men, streaming with perspiration, grouped themselves round them, looking at them curiously. What did I now see, though? Was it possible? The same soldiers who had been intoxicated with the madness of carnage, with vengeance and hate, were now looking after these captives. One offered them cigarettes, another one coffee from his flask. Our "ferocious" doctor was busy lavishing his care on them, and dressing their wounds down to the very least scratch.