the ancient town. We learned afterward we had under-figured the
total by at least a third.

During these days the life of Louvain went on, so far as our alien eyes
could judge, pretty much as it probably did in the peace times
preceding. At night, obeying an order, the people stayed within their
doors; in the daylight hours they pursued their customary business, not
greatly incommoded apparently by the presence of the conqueror. If
there was simmering hate in the hearts of the men and women of Louvain
it did not betray itself in their sobered faces. I saw a soldier,
somewhat fuddled, seize a serving maid about the waist and kiss her; he
received a slap in the face and fell back in bad order, while his mates
cheered the spunky girl. A minute later she emerged from the house to
which she had retreated, seemingly ready to swap slaps for kisses some
more.

However, from time to time sinister suggestions did obtrude themselves
on us. For example, on the second morning of our enforced stay at the
House of the Thousand Columns we watched a double file of soldiers going
through a street toward the Palais de Justice. Two roughly clad natives
walked between the lines of bared bayonets. One was an old man who
walked proudly with his head erect. He was like a man going to a feast.
The other was bent almost double, and his hands were tied behind his
back.

A few minutes afterward a barred yellow van, under escort, came through
the square fronting the railroad station and disappeared behind a mass
of low buildings. From that direction we presently heard shots. Soon
the van came back, unescorted this time; and behind it came Belgians
with Red Cross arm badges, bearing on their shoulders two litters on
which were still figures covered with blankets, so that only the
stockinged feet showed.

Twice thereafter this play was repeated, with slight variations, and
each time we Americans, looking on from our front windows, drew our own
conclusions. Also, from the same vantage point we saw an automobile
pass bearing a couple of German officers and a little, scared-looking
man in a frock coat and a high hat, whose black mustache stood out like
a charcoal mark against the very white background of his face. This
little man, we learned, was the burgomaster, and this day he was being
held a prisoner and responsible for the good conduct of some fifty-odd
thousand of his fellow citizens. That night our host, a gross, silent
man in