francs then 5, then 9, then 15 francs. Then with a sudden leap it
reached 23 francs on one day. That was the high-water mark, for it came
down after that. The _Times_ was too expensive for the likes of me. I
used to content myself with the _Flandres Libérale_, a half-penny paper
published then in Ghent and sold in Brussels for a franc or more
according to the difficulty in getting it in. These papers used to be
wrapped up very tight and small and smuggled into Brussels in a basket
of fruit or a cart full of dirty washing. They could not of course be
bought in the shops, and the Germans kept a very keen look-out for them.
We used to get them nevertheless almost every day in spite of them.

The mode of procedure was this: When it was getting dusk you sauntered
out to take a turn in the fresh air. You strolled through a certain
square where there were men selling picture post-cards, etc. You
selected a likely looking man and went up and looked over his cards,
saying under your breath "_Journal Anglais?_" or "_Flandres Libérale?_"
which ever it happened to be. Generally you were right, but occasionally
the man looked at you with a blank stare and you knew you had made a bad
shot, and if perchance he had happened to be a spy, your lot would not
have been a happy one. But usually you received a whispered "Oui,
madame," in reply, and then you loudly asked the way to somewhere, and
the man would conduct you up a side street, pointing the way with his
finger. When no one was looking he slipped a tiny folded parcel into
your hand, you slipped a coin into his, and the ceremony was over. But
it was not safe to read your treasure at a front window or anywhere
where you might be overlooked.

Sometimes these newspaper-sellers grew bold and transacted this business
too openly and then there was trouble. One evening some of the nurses
were at Benediction at the Carmelite Church, when a wretched newspaper