An automobile tore through the street with its horn blaring, and raced by us, going toward Brussels at forty miles an hour.
A well-dressed man in the front seat yelled out something to us as he whizzed past, but the words were swallowed up in the roaring of his engine.
Of our party only one spoke French, and he spoke it indifferently.

We sought, therefore, to find some one who understood English.

In a minute we saw the black robe of a priest; and here, through the crowd, calm and dignified where all others were fairly befuddled with excitement, he came--a short man with a fuzzy red beard and a bright blue eye.
We hailed him, and the man who spoke a little French explained our case.
At once he turned about and took us into a side street; and even in their present state the men and women who met us remembered their manners and pulled off their hats and bowed before him.
At a door let into a high stone wall he stopped and rang a bell.

A brother in a brown robe came and unbarred the gate for us, and our guide led us under an arched alley and out again into the open; and behold we were in another world from the little world of panic that we had just left.

There was a high-walled inclosure with a neglected tennis court in the middle, and pear and plum trees burdened with fruit; and at the far end, beneath a little arbor of vines, four priests were sitting together.