It was hard for us to convince ourselves that any event out of the ordinary beset this country.

No columns of troops passed along the roads; no camps of tents lifted their peaked tops above the hedges.

In seventy-odd miles we encountered one small detachment of soldiers--they were at a railroad station--and one Red Cross flag.
As for Brussels--why, Brussels at first glance was more like a city making a fete than the capital of a nation making war.

The flags which were displayed everywhere; the crowds in the square before the railroad station; the multitudes of boy scouts running about; the uniforms of Belgian volunteers and regulars; the Garde Civique, in their queer- looking costumes, with funny little derby hats, all braid-trimmed--gave to the place a holiday air.

After nightfall, when the people of Brussels flocked to the sidewalk cafes and sat at little round tables under awnings, drinking light drinks a la Parisienne, this impression was heightened.
We dined in the open air ourselves, finding the prices for food and drink to be both moderate and modest, and able to see nothing on the surface which suggested that the life of these people had been seriously disturbed.