These Germans had been run through a mold and they had all come out soldiers.

And, barring a few general officers, they were all young men--men yet on the sunny side of thirty.

Later we were to see plenty of older men--reserves and Landwehr--but this was the pick of the western line that passed through Louvain, the chosen product of the active wing of the service.
Out of the narrow streets the marchers issued; and as they reached the broader space before the town hall each company would raise a song, beating with its heavy boots on the paving stones to mark the time.
Presently we detected a mutter of resentment rising from the troops; and seeking the cause of this we discerned that some of them had caught sight of a big Belgian flag which whipped in the breeze from the top of the Church of Saint Pierre.

However, the flag stayed where it had been put during the three days we remained in Louvain.

Seemingly the German commander did not greatly care whose flag flew on the church tower overhead so long as he held dominion of the earth below and the dwellers thereof.
Well, we watched the gray ear-wig wriggling away to the westward until we were surfeited, and then we set about finding a place where we might rest our dizzy heads.