d than living. For you it is different. The world will
go on, war or no war; but Verviers will not become your residence, I
take it."

"Jan and I mean to join our respective armies as soon as Monsieur Joos
and the ladies are taken care of, and that means, I suppose, safely
lodged in England," said Dalroy.

"If Leontine likes to marry me first, I'm agreeable," put in Maertz
promptly.

It was a naive confession, and every one laughed except Joos.

"Leontine marries neither you nor any other hulking loafer while there
is one German hoof left in Belgium," vowed the little man warmly.

The priest smiled. He knew where the shoe pinched. Maertz, if no loafer,
was not what is vulgarly described as "a good catch."

"I've lost my parish," he said jestingly, "and, being an inveterate
match-maker, am on the _qui vive_ for a job. But if father says 'No' we
must wait till mother has a word. Now for the other pair.--What of you?"

Irene blushed scarlet, and dropped her serviette; Dalroy, though
flabbergasted, happily hit on a way out.

"I'm surprised at you, monsieur!" he cried. "Look at mademoiselle, and
then run your eye over me. Did ever pretty maid wed such a scarecrow?"

"I must refer that point to mademoiselle," retorted the priest. "I don't
think either of you would choose a book by the cover."

"Ah. At last I know the worst," laughed Dalroy. "Who would believe that
I once posed as the Discobulus in a _tableau vivant_?"

"What's that?" demanded Joos.

Dalroy hesitated. Neither his French nor German was equal to the
translation.

"A quoit-thrower," suggested Irene.

"Quoits!" sniffed the miller. "I'll take you on at that game any day you
like for twenty francs every ringer."

It was a safe offer. Old Joos was a noted player. He gave details of his
prowess. Dalroy, though modestly declining a contest, led him on, and
steered the conversation clear of rocks.

Thenceforth, for a whole day, Irene's manner stiffened perceptibly, and
Dalroy was miserable. Inexperienced in the ways of the sex, he little
dreamed that Irene felt she had been literally thrown at his head.

But graver issues soon dispersed that small cloud. On Saturday, 15th
August, the thunder of the guns lessened and died down, being replaced
by the far more distant and fitful barking of field batteries. But the
rumble on the cobbles of the main road continued. What need to ask what
had happened? Around Liege lay the silence of death.

Late that aft