s I had been accustomed
to do in Charleroi when stopped. This had the German eagle stamped on it
as well as the Belgian Red Cross stamp. The man saluted and let us pass.
_Now_ I realize that he too thought we were German Sisters.

We went on calmly down the lane and in two minutes we fell into a whole
German camp. There were tents and wagons and cannon and camp fires, and
thousands of soldiers. I saw some carts there which they must have
captured from the English bearing the familiar names of "Lyons' Tea" and
"Pickford" vans! An officer came up and asked in German what we wanted.
I replied in French that we were two Sisters on our way to Brussels.
Fortunately I could produce my Belgian Carte d'Identite, which had also
been stamped with the German stamp. The only hope was to let him think
we were Belgians. Had they known we were English I don't think anything
would have saved us from being shot as spies. The officer had us
searched, but found nothing contraband on us and let us go, though he
did not seem quite satisfied. He really thought he had found something
suspicious when he spied in my basket a small metal case. It contained
nothing more compromising, however, than a piece of Vinolia soap. We had
not the least idea which way to go when we were released, and went wrong
first, and had to come back through that horrible camp again. Seven
times we were stopped and searched, and each time I pointed to my German
brassard and produced my Belgian Carte d'Identite. Sister did not speak
French or German, but she was very good and did not lose her head, or
give us away by speaking English to me. And at last--it seemed hours to
us--we got safely past the last sentry. Footsore and weary, but very
thankful, we trudged back to Brussels.

But that was not quite the end of our adventure, for just as we were
getting into Brussels an officer galloped after us, and dismounted as
soon as he got near us. He began asking in broken French the most
searching questions as to our movements. I could not keep it up and had
to tell him that we were English. He really nearly fell down with
surprise, and wanted to know, naturally enough, what we were doing
there. I told him the exact truth--how we had started out for Malines,
were unable to get there and so were returning to Brussels. "But," he
said at once, "you are not on the Malines road." He had us there, but I
explained that we had rested at a convent and that the nuns had shown us
a short