ed....

He turned back to them, his voice broken with sobs, and he could only
cry the one word "Belgia... Belgia... Belgia"... To that they
responded. They began to shout, to cry aloud. The screams of "_Verrno...
Verrno_" rose until it seemed that the roof would rise with them.
The air was filled with shouts, "Bravo for the Allies." "_Soyousniki!
Soyousniki_!" Men raised their caps and waved them, smiled upon one
another as though they had suddenly heard wonderful news, shouted and
shouted and shouted... and in the midst of it all the little rotund
Belgian Consul stood bowing and wiping his eyes.

How pleased we all were! I whispered to Vera: "You see! They do care!
Their hearts are touched. We can do anything with them now!"

Even Uncle Ivan was moved, and murmured to himself "Poor Belgium! Poor
Belgium!"

How delighted, too, were the gentlemen on the platform. Smiling, they
whispered to one another, and I saw several shake hands. A great moment.
The little Consul bowed finally and sat down.

Never shall I forget the applause that followed. Like one man the
thousands shouted, tears raining down their cheeks, shaking hands, even
embracing! A vast movement, as though the wind had caught them and
driven them forward, rose, lifted them, so that they swayed like bending
corn towards the platform, for an instant we were all caught up
together. There was one great cry: "Belgium!"

The sound rose, fell, sunk into a muttering whisper, died to give way to
the breathless attention that awaited the next speaker.

I whispered to Vera: "I shall never forget that. I'm going to leave on
that. It's good enough for me."

"Yes," she said, "we'll go."

"What a pity," whispered Uncle Ivan, "that they didn't understand what
they were shouting about."

We slipped out behind the platform; turned down the dark long passage,
hearing the new speaker's voice like a bell ringing beyond thick walls,
and found our way into the open.

The evening was wonderfully fresh and clear. The Neva lay before us like
a blue scarf, and the air faded into colourless beauty above the dark
purple of the towers and domes. Vera caught my arm: "Look!" she
whispered. "There's Boris!" I knew that she had on several occasions
tried to force her way into his flat, that she had written every day to
Nina (letters as it afterwards appeared, that Boris kept from her). I
was afraid that she would do something violent.

"Wait!" I whispered, "perhaps Nina is here