me. Let us go on to that nice
Belgian town over there, only a few steps farther. It is hardly ten
o'clock. It will be devilish bad luck if we can't find a good supper
and good quarters. We need not trouble about anything else. Let us
think first of serious matters."

So we started for the little town which seemed to be wrapped in sleep.
We knocked at the doors, but not one opened; no doubt the houses were
all full of soldiers. No one offered us any hospitality, in spite of
all B.'s objurgations, now beseeching, now imperious. In despair, I
suggested at last that we should go back to our squadron, and lie down
by our horses; but B. would not hear of it, and still clung to his
idea: to have a good dinner, and sleep in a bed.

Just then, we saw a dark figure creeping noiselessly along under the
wall. B. at once went up to it, and caught it by the arm. It was a
poor old woman, carrying a basket and a jug of milk. Said he:

"_Madame, madame_, have pity on two poor weary, half-starved
soldiers...."

But she couldn't give us any information. Speaking in bad French,
interspersed with Flemish, she gave us to understand that the little
town was full of troops, and, at that hour, everybody was asleep.

"And what is there in that large white building, where the windows are
alight?"

The good woman explained that it was a convent, where nuns took in the
old people of the country. They could not give lodging to soldiers.
But B. had already made up his mind; that was where we were to sleep.
Leaving the old woman aghast, he went with long strides to the iron
railing which surrounded a little garden in front of the convent. I
tried in vain to make him understand that we could not invade these
sacred precincts.

"Leave it to me," he said, "I'll speak to them."

He pushed the iron gate, which opened with a creak, and I shut it
after him. I felt somewhat uneasy as I followed B., who crossed the
garden with a rapid stride. I felt uneasy at the thought of his
essentially military eloquence, and of the use to which he proposed to
put it. But I knew, too, that he was not easily induced to abandon a
resolution he had once taken. True, he did not often make one, but
this time he seemed to be carrying out a very definite plan. The best
thing was to submit, and await the result of his attempt. We went up
three steps, and felt for the knocker. "Here it is," said B., and he
lifted it and knocked hard. What a dismal sound it made in that