to turn him out. Weeks passed. Yes, weeks. English forces came to
Ostend. Marvellous. Among nations there was none like the English. She
did not see them herself. She was ill. The _rouquin_ had told her
that she was ill when she was not ill, but lo! the next day she was
ill--oh, a long time. The _rouquin_ told her the news--battle of the
Marne and all species of glorious deeds. An old fat Belgian told her
a different kind of news. The stories of the fall of Liége, Namur,
Brussels, Antwerp. The massacres at Aerschot, at Louvain. Terrible
stories that travelled from mouth to mouth among women. There was
always rape and blood and filth mingled. Stories of a frightful
fascination ... unrepeatable! Ah!

The _rouquin_ had informed her one day that the Belgian Government had
come to Ostend. Proof enough, according to him, that Ostend could not
be captured by the Germans! After that he had said nothing about the
Belgian Government for many days. And then one day he had informed
her casually that the Belgian Government was about to leave Ostend
by steamer. But days earlier the old fat woman had told her that the
German staff had ordered seventy-five rooms at the Hôtel des Postes at
Ghent. Seventy-five rooms. And that in the space of a few hours Ghent
had become a city of the dead.... Thousands of refugees in Ostend.
Thousands of escaped virgins. Thousands of wounded soldiers.
Often, the sound of guns all day and all night. And in the daytime
occasionally, a sharp sound, very loud; that meant that a German
aeroplane was over the town--killing ... Plenty to kill. Ostend was
always full, behind the Digue, and yet people were always leaving--by
steamer. Steamers taken by assault. At first there had been
formalities, permits, passports. But when one steamer had been taken
by assault--no more formalities! In trying to board the steamers
people were drowned. They fell into the water and nobody troubled--so