“Why not?”

“I thought that possibly, on account of Your Majesty and the Queen being there, it would be spared.

“They are bombarding Furnes, where I go every day,” he replied.  “And there are German aeroplanes overhead all the time.”

The mention of Furnes brought to my mind the flooded district near that village, which extends from Nieuport to Dixmude.

“Belgium has made a great sacrifice in flooding her lowlands,” I said.  “Will that land be as fertile as before?”

“Not for several years.  The flooding of the productive land in the Yser district was only carried out as a military necessity.  The water is sea water, of course, and will have a bad effect on the soil.  Have you seen the flooded district?”

I told His Majesty that I had been to the Belgian trenches, and then across the inundated country to one of the outposts; a remarkable experience—­one I should never forget.

The conversation shifted to America and her point of view; to American women who have married abroad.  His Majesty mentioned especially Lady Curzon.  Two children of the King were with Lord Curzon, in England, at the time.  The Crown Prince, a boy of fourteen, tall and straight like his father, was with the King and Queen.

The King had risen and was standing in his favourite attitude, his elbow on the mantelpiece.  I rose also.

“I was given some instructions as to the ceremonial of this audience,” I said.  “I am afraid I have not followed them!”

“What were you told to do?” said His Majesty, evidently amused.  Then, without waiting for a reply;

“We are very democratic—­we Belgians,” he said.  “More democratic than the Americans.  The President of the United States has great power—­very great power.  He is a czar.”

He referred to President Wilson in terms of great esteem—­not only as the President but as a man.  He spoke, also, with evident admiration of Mr. Roosevelt and Mr. McKinley, both of whom he had met.

I looked at the clock.  It was after three and the interview had begun at two.  I knew it was time for me to go, but I had been given no indication that the interview was at an end.  Fragments of the coaching I had received came to my mind, but nothing useful; so I stated my difficulty frankly, and again the King’s serious face lighted up with a smile.

“There is no formality here; but if you are going we must find the general for you.”

So we shook hands and I went out; but the beautiful courtesy of the soldier King of the Belgians brought him out to the doorstep with me.

That is the final picture I have of Albert I, King of the Belgians—­a tall young man, very fair and blue-eyed, in the dark blue uniform of a lieutenant-general of his army, wearing no orders or decorations, standing bareheaded in the wind and pointing out to me the direction in which I should go to find the general who had brought me.