called upon to serve the Germans at their craft, they suddenly
became butter-fingered. So that bread-line at Liege was long, its
queue stretching the breadth of the cathedral square.

As most of the regular German officers in Belgium were cavalrymen--
there was nothing for cavalry to do on the Aisne line of trenches--it
was quite in keeping that the aide to the commandant of Liege, who
looked after my pass to leave the country, should be a young officer
of Hussars. He spoke English well; he was amiable and intelligent.
While I waited for the commandant to sign the pass the aide chatted
of his adventures on the pursuit of the British to the Marne. The
British fought like devils, he said. It was a question if their new army
would be so good. He showed me a photograph of himself in a British
Tommy's overcoat.

"When we took some prisoners I was interested in their overcoats,"
he explained. "I asked one of the Tommies to let me try on his. It fitted
me perfectly, so I kept it as a souvenir and had this photograph made
to show my friends."

Perhaps a shade of surprise passed over my face.

"You don't understand," he said. "That Tommy had to give me his
coat! He was a prisoner."

On my way out from Liege I was to see Visé--the town of the
gateway--the first town of the war to suffer from frightfulness. I had
thought of it as entirely destroyed. A part of it had survived.

A delightful old Bavarian Landsturmman searched me for contraband