him dead with a revolver; that the Crown Prince of Germany, despairing of a successful end of the War, had committed suicide at his father’s feet; that the American Consul General in Brussels—­to whom, by the bye, Vivie ought to report herself and her mother, in order to come under his protection—­had notified General Sixt von Arnim, commanding the army in Brussels, that, unless he vacated the Belgian capital immediately, England would bombard Hamburg and the United States would declare war on the Kaiser.  Alluring stories like these flitted through despairing Brussels during the first two months of German occupation, though Vivie, in her solitude at Tervueren, seldom heard them.

After her business at the bank she walked about the town.  No one took any notice of her or annoyed her in any way.  The restaurants seemed crowded with Belgians as well as Germans, and the Belgians did not seem to have lost their appetites.  The Palace Hotel had become a German officers’ club.  On all the public buildings the German Imperial flag hung alongside the Belgian.  Only a few of the trams were running.  Yet you could still buy, without much difficulty at the kiosques, Belgian and even French and British newspapers.  From these she gathered that the German forces were in imminent peril between the Belgian Antwerp army on the north and the British army advancing from the south; and that in the plains of Alsace the French had given the first public exhibition of the new “Turpin” explosive.  The results had been foudroyant ... and simple.  Complete regiments of German soldiers had been destroyed in one minute.  It seemed curious, she thought, that with such an arm as this the French command did not at once come irresistibly to the rescue of Brussels....

However, it was four o’clock, and there was her friend the enemy’s automobile drawn up outside the bank, awaiting her.  She got in, and the soldier chauffeur whirled her away to the Villa Beau-sejour, beyond Tervueren.

On her return she found her mother prostrate with bad news.  Their nearest neighbour, Farmer Oudekens who had driven them into Brussels the preceding day had been executed in his own orchard only an hour ago.  It seemed that the lieutenant in charge of the soldiers billeted there had disappeared in the night, leaving his uniform and watch and chain behind him.  The farmer’s story was that in the night the lieutenant had appeared in his room with a revolver and had threatened to shoot him unless he produced a suit of civilian clothes.  Thus coerced he had given him his eldest son’s Sunday clothes left behind when the said son went off to join the Belgian army.  The lieutenant, grateful for the assistance, had given him as a present his watch and chain.

On the other hand the German non-commissioned officers insisted their lieutenant had been made away with in the night.  The farmer’s allegation that he had deserted (as in fact he had) only enhanced his crime.  The finding of the court after a very summary trial was “guilty,” and despite the frantic appeals of the wife, reinforced later on by Mrs. Warren, the farmer had been taken out and shot.