Vivie being a good sailor and economical by nature, never thought of securing a cabin for the four or five hours’ sea-journey.  She sat on the upper deck with her scanty luggage round her.  A nice-looking young man who had a cabin the door of which he locked, was walking up and down on the level deck and scrutinizing her discreetly.  And when at last they worked their way backwards into Ostende—­the harbour was full of vessels, chiefly mine-dredgers and torpedo boats—­she noticed the obsequiousness of the steamer people and how he left the ship before any one else.

She followed soon afterwards, having little encumbrances in the way of luggage; but she observed that he just showed a glimpse of some paper and was allowed to walk straight through the Douane with unexamined luggage, and so, on to the Brussels train.

But she herself had little difficulty.  She put her hand luggage—­she had no other—­into a first-class compartment, and having an hour and a half to wait walked out to look at Ostende.

Summer tourists were still there; the Casino was full of people, the shops were doing an active trade; the restaurants were crowded with English, Americans, Belgians taking tea, chocolate, or liqueurs at little tables and creating a babel of talk.  Newspapers were being sold everywhere by ragamuffin boys who shouted their head-lines in French, Flemish, and quite understandable English.  A fort or two at Liege had fallen, but it was of no consequence.  General Leman could hold out indefinitely, and the mere fact that German soldiers had entered the town of Liege counted for nothing.  Belgium had virtually won the war by holding up the immense German army.  France was overrunning Alsace, Russia was invading East Prussia and also sending uncountable thousands of soldiers, via Archangel, to England, whence they were being despatched to Calais for the relief of Belgium.

“It looks,” thought Vivie, after glancing at the Independance Belge, “As though Belgium were going to be extremely interesting during the next few weeks; I may be privileged to witness—­from a safe distance—­another Waterloo.”

Then she returned to the train which in her absence had been so crowded with soldiers and civilian passengers that she had great difficulty in finding her place and seating herself.  The young man whom she had seen pacing the deck of the steamer approached her and said:  “There is more room in my compartment; in fact I have selfishly got one all to myself.  Won’t you share it?”

She thanked him and moved in there with her suit case and rugs.  When the train had started and she had parried one or two polite enquiries as to place and ventilation, she said:  “I think I ought to tell you who I am, in case you would not like to be seen speaking to me—­I imagine you are in diplomacy, as I noticed you went through with a Red passport.—­I am Vivien Warren, just out of prison, and an outlaw, more or less.”