The first real check to the German Army in its second march on Paris—­that which followed its crossing of the Marne near Dormans—­was prophetically greeted by the Bruxellois as the turning of the tide.  The Emperor had gone thither from the Hotel Imperial in order to witness and follow the culminating march on Paris.  But Foch now struck with his reserves, and the head of the tortoise was nipped off.  The driving back of the Germans over the Marne coincided with the Belgian National Fete of July 21.  Not since 1914 had this fete been openly observed.  But on this day in 1918, the German police made no protest when a huge crowd celebrated the fete day in every church and every street.  Vivien herself, smiling and laughing as she had not done since Bertie’s death, attended the service in Sainte-Gudule and joined in singing La Brabanconne in place of Te Deum, laudamus.  In the streets and houses of Brussels every piano, every gramophone was enrolled to play the Marseillaise, Vers l’Avenir, and La Brabanconne, the Belgian national anthem (uninspiring words and dreary tune).  From this date onwards—­July 21—­the German debacle proceeded, with scarcely one day’s intermission, with never a German regain of lost ground.

When the Americans had retaken St. Mihiel on September 14, then did Belgians boldly predict that their King would be back in Brussels by Christmas.  But their prophecies were outstripped by events.  Already, in the beginning of October, the accredited German Press in Belgium was adjuring the Belgians not to be impatient, but to let them evacuate Belgium quietly.  At the end of October, Minna von Stachelberg told Vivien that she and the other units of the German Red Cross had received instructions to leave and hand over their charges to the Belgian doctors and nurses.  The two women took an affectionate farewell of each other, vowing they would meet again—­somewhere—­when the War was over.  British wounded now began to cease coming into Brussels, so Vivie was free to attend to her own affairs.

Enormous quantities of German plunder were streaming out of Belgium by train, by motor, in military lorries, in carts and waggons.  Nearly all this belonged to the officers, and the already-rebellious soldiers broke out in protestations.  “Why should they who had done all the fighting have none of the loot?” So they won over the Belgian engine-drivers—­delighted to see this quarrel between the hyenas—­and held up the trains in the suburban stations north of Brussels.  There were pitched battles which ended always in the soldiers’ victory.

The soldiers then would hold auctions and markets of the plunder captured in the trains and lorries.  They were in a hurry to get a little money to take back with them to Germany.  Vivie, who had laid her plans now as to what to do after the German evacuation of Brussels, attended these auctions.  She was nearly always civilly treated, because so many German soldiers had known her as a friend in hospital and told other soldiers.  At one such sale she bought a serviceable motor-car for 750 francs; at another drums of petrol.