fighting at Liege. Nearly half its members were killed or wounded; but
astonishingly few women in mourning are to be seen on the street, and
none of the men wear those crape arm bands that are so common in Europe
ordinarily; nor, except about the railroad station, are very many
wounded to be seen.

There are any number of wounded privates in the local hospitals; but
there must be a rule against their appearance in public places, for it
is only occasionally that I meet one abroad. Slightly wounded officers
are more plentiful. I judge from this that no such restriction applies
to them as applies to the common soldiers. This hotel is full of them--
young officers mostly, with their heads tied up or their arms in black
silk slings, or limping about on canes or crutches.

Until a few days ago the columns of the back pages of the Aix and
Cologne papers were black-edged with cards inserted by relatives in
memory of officers who had fallen--"For King and Fatherland!" the cards
always said. I counted thirteen of these death notices in one issue of
a Cologne paper. Now they have almost disappeared. I imagine that,
because of the depressing effect of such a mass of these publications on
the public mind, the families of killed officers have been asked to
refrain from reciting their losses in print. Yet there are not wanting
signs that the grim total piles up by the hour and the day.

Late this afternoon, when I walk around to the American consulate, I
shall pass the office of the chief local paper; and there I am sure to
find anywhere from seventy-five to a hundred men and women waiting for
the appearance on a bulletin board of the latest list of dead, wounded
and missing men who are credited to Aix-la-Chapelle and its vicinity. A
new list goes up each afternoon, replacing the list of the day before.