fellow proceeded to inform me that he was the keeper of a big estate
that belonged to Madame Pyrme (sister of the senator of that name),
situated in the little village of Hanzinell, Belgium. He even offered
to show his papers, but I shook my head. His open-hearted sincerity
and frank countenance were sufficient.

But why had they come away? That was what interested me.

Because their country was invaded and one by one the towns and villages
had been bombarded, looted and burned until little or nothing remained.
Because all men under fifty were carried away as hostages or prisoners;
because he had seen little children slain, and young girls tortured;
because anything was better than falling helpless into the hands of such
an enemy.

"Madame, at Charleroi I've seen the blood running in the gutters like
rain after a storm and that not a week ago!"

It was impossible not to believe him. His eye was not that of a coward.
He told his story simply; he was almost reticent, and I had even to
encourage him at times to make him finish a phrase. Finally I asked him
where he intended going, and why so far away. Didn't he think he was
safe here?

No--_jamais!_ Yesterday in the night they had heard the cannon growing
closer and closer. They knew the sound. The Germans were advancing. It
was Paris they wanted and nothing would stop them till they reached
their goal.

"Except the French army," I said, with pride.