the ancient Church of Saint Jacques, and one of the fathers was showing
us a map in order that we might better understand the lay of the land;
and another was uncorking a bottle of good red wine, which he brought up
from the cellar, with a halo of mold on the cork and a mantle of cobwebs
on its sloping shoulders.

It seemed that the Rev. Dom. Marie-Joseph Montaigne--I give the name
that was on his card--could speak a little English. He told us
haltingly that the smoke we had seen came from a scene of fighting
somewhere to the eastward of Louvain. He understood that the Prussians
were quite near, but he had seen none himself and did not expect they
would enter the town before nightfall. As for the firing, that appeared
to have ceased. And, sure enough, when we listened we could no longer
catch the sound of the big guns. Nor did we hear them again during that
day. Over his glass the priest spoke in his faulty English, stopping
often to feel for a word; and when he had finished his face worked and
quivered with the emotion he felt.

"This war--it is a most terrible thing that it should come on Belgium,
eh? Our little country had no quarrel with any great country. We
desired only that we should be left alone.

"Our people here--they are not bad people. I tell you they are very
good people. All the week they work and work, and on Sunday they go to
church; and then maybe they take a little walk.

"You Americans now--you come from a very great country. Surely, if the
worst should come America will not let our country perish from off the
earth, eh! Is not that so?"