Nothing further happened that afternoon. Madame Guix's course went on
as usual, with perhaps a little more animation in the conversation, and
much speculation as to when and where those who had stopped at the
chateau had been wounded. No one really knew. To tell the truth,
though later Madame Guix and I had asked them, the soldiers themselves
had but a very indistinct idea of time and date or whereabouts.
That night I was awakened by the low rumbling of heavy carts on the road
in front of the chateau. Fancying that perhaps it was artillery on its
way to the front, I put on my dressing gown and went as far as the gate.
There in the pale moonlight I beheld a long stream of carriages and
wagons of every description piled high with household goods, and filled
with women and children. The men walked beside the horses to prevent
collision, for as far as eye could see, the lamentable _cortege_
extended down the hill.
What did this mean?
"Who are you?" I called to one of the men as they passed.
"Belgians--refugees."
Refugees! My mind flew back to descriptions of the French Revolution
and the Reign of Terror, when so many people fled for their lives! What
nonsense! Were we not in the twentieth century? Wasn't there a Peace
Palace at The Hague? My thoughts became muddled.
Opening the gate, I went out and accosted another man.
"Won't you come in and rest?"
"No, we can't. We must make our twenty miles by dawn--and rest during
the heat of the day."
"But why do you leave home?"
"Because the savages burned us out!"
Bah, the man must be dreaming!