It is not the blue-gray of our Confederates, but a green-gray.

It is the gray of the hour just before daybreak, the gray of unpolished steel, of mist among green trees.
I saw it first in the Grand Place in front of the Hotel de Ville.

It was impossible to tell if in that noble square there was a regiment or a brigade.

You saw only a fog that melted into the stones, blended with the ancient house fronts, that shifted and drifted, but left you nothing at which to point.
Later, as the army passed under the trees of the Botanical Park, it merged and was lost against the green leaves.

It is no exaggeration to say that at a few hundred yards you can see the horses on which the Uhlans ride but cannot see the men who ride them.
If I appear to overemphasize this disguising uniform it is because, of all the details of the German outfit, it appealed to me as one of the most remarkable.