Like most newspapers the contents are optimistic as regards their own
side.
Mlle Irma reads the news aloud. She begins with the heroic defence of
Liège.
As she reads, we hear the cannon booming, booming across the distant
wooded hills.
To judge from the printed page, the gallant little Belgians have
defeated the entire German army to a man. Several regiments have
already covered themselves with imperishable glory, notably the 11th
and 14th Foot. Albert is in the 14th.
A man named Desmoulins has rushed out of a fort and slain four Germans
with his own hands before darting back safely to shelter. The enemy’s
losses are enormous. I notice that in war they usually are. The Belgian
casualties are described as so small that they are, seemingly, scarce
worth mentioning.
“The chief losses,” reads Mlle Irma in her clear, pretty voice, “were
sustained by the 11th” ... a slight pause quickly slurred over, “and
the 32nd.”
“And the names!”
“There are no names as yet,” she returns quietly and goes on with the
notes of a speech, “ce cher monsieur Askveeth,” had delivered in the
English parliament only yesterday.
But Madame Job is not to be deceived. “It was the 14th which has been
so cut up,” she says, putting up her apron to her eyes and beginning to
cry again. “I know Albert is dead. Mon pauvre Albert in that terrible
Liège!”
“Don’t fuss, Maman,” says M. Alfred the peacemaker. “It will be all
right now the men in skirts are there....”