You catch the sinister undercurrent in the more obscure little cafes.  Here you will find some Belgian patriot who is glad of the chance to unbosom himself to a safe American.  Perhaps he will speak with unprintable bitterness of the shame of the Brussels women who, he says, wave handkerchiefs and smile friendly greetings at the singing troop trains passing through the suburbs on their way to the front, or give flowers and cigars to the returning streams of wounded.  They ought to be shot as traitresses, he says.  For the honor of the Belgian women, he adds, these form only a small percentage.

You are not surprised when well-informed neutral residents tell you that these people “have murder in their hearts, and that if the Germans ever retreat in a rout through Belgium, Heaven help the straggler and the rear guard.”  Nor that copies of English papers, whose reading is forbidden, are nevertheless smuggled in, and that copies of The London Times fetch as high as 200 francs, reading circles being often formed at 20 francs per head.

But there are no hopeful signs here of a German retreat.  Brussels has not been “practically evacuated.”  On the contrary, one gets overwhelmingly the impression that the Germans expect to stay forever.  No cannon are posted on commanding avenues or squares.  There are no serious measures for the defense of the capital.  The military and civil Governments occupy the principal public buildings, and seem to be working with typical German thoroughness.  The Government offices begin to assume an air of permanence.

As conquerors go, the invaders seem to be bearing themselves well.  There is apparently no desire to “rub it in,” the military Government seemingly pursuing the wise policy of trying to spare the feelings of the natives as much as possible, perhaps in the impossible hope of ultimately conciliating them.  German flags are flown sparingly.  Only small squads of Landsturm are now occasionally seen marching through the streets.  Even from the bitterest Belgians one hears no stories of “insult, shame, or wrong.”

At the same time, swift and harsh punishment is meted out to any one whose actions are thought to tend to impair German military authority or dignity.  Thus placards posted on many street corners day before yesterday informed the people that a Belgian city policeman had been sentenced to five years’ imprisonment for “interfering with a German official in the discharge of his duty, assaulting a soldier, and attempting to free a prisoner.”  For this, also, a fine of 5,000,000 france ($1,000,000) was imposed on the City of Brussels.  Another policeman was sentenced to three years’ imprisonment for alleged similar offenses.

An interesting history of the German occupation can be reconstructed from these same placards pasted on buildings.  Here is one, dating from the early days, forbidding bicycle riding in the country and announcing that civilian cyclists will be shot at sight.  If you look long enough you can also find a mutilated specimen of ex-Burgomaster Max’s famous “dementi,” in which he virtually calls the German Military Governor of Liege and, by implication, the German Government, “liar.”  The Bruxellois must be fickle and quick to forget, for I did not hear the picturesque Max’s name mentioned once.