said the old woman. Christine was better; desired to rise. The
_rouquin_ said No, not yet. He would believe naught. And now he
believed one thing, and it filled his mind--that German submarines
sank all refugee ships in the North Sea. Proof of the folly of leaving
Ostend. Yet immediately afterwards he came and told her to get up.
That is to say, she had been up for several days, but not outside. He
told her to come away, come away. She had only summer clothes, and it
was mid-October. What a climate, Ostend in October! The old woman said
that thousands of parcels of clothes for refugees had been sent by
generous England. She got a parcel; she had means of getting it. She
opened it with pride in the bedroom of the flat. It contained eight
corsets and a ball-dress. A droll race, all the same, the English.
Had they no imagination? But, no doubt, society women were the same
everywhere. It was notorious that in France....

Christine went forth in her summer clothes. The _rouquin_ had got
an old horse-carriage. He gave her much American money--or, rather,
cheques--which, true enough, she had since cashed with no difficulty
in London. They had to leave the carriage. The station square was full
of guns and women and children and bundles. Yes, together with a
few men. She spent the whole night in the station square with the
_rouquin_, in her summer clothes and his overcoat. At six o'clock in
the evening it was already dark. A night interminable. Babies crying.
One heard that at the other end of the square a baby had been born.
She, Christine, sat next to a young mother with a baby. Both mother
and baby had the right arm bandaged. They had both been shot through
the arm with the same bullet. It was near Aerschot. The young woman
also told her.... No, she could not relate that to an Englishman.
Happily it did not rain. But the wind and the cold! In the morning
the _rouquin_ put her on to a fishing-vessel. She had nothing but her