with her British wounded. I had to warn her that the Germans may come in
to-night. I had told the Commandant about her yesterday, and arranged
with him that we should take her and her British away in our Ambulance
if we have to go. I had to find out how many there would be to take.

The Convent is a little way beyond the _Place_ on the boulevard. I knew
it by the Red Cross hanging from the upper windows. Everything is as
happy and peaceful here as if Ghent were not on the eve of an invasion.
The nuns took me to Miss Ashley-Smith in her ward. I hardly knew her,
for she had changed the uniform of the British Field Hospital[30] for
the white linen of the Belgian Red Cross. I found her in charge of the
ward. Absolutely unperturbed by the news, she went on superintending
the disposal of a table of surgical instruments. She would not consent
to come with us at first. But the nuns persuaded her that she would do
no good by remaining.

I am to come again and tell her what time to be ready with her wounded,
when we know whether we are going and when.

Came back to the "Flandria" and finished entries in my Day-Book.

[_Evening._]

The Commandant has come back from Melle; but he is going there again
almost directly. He has been to the British lines, and heard for certain
that the Germans will be in Ghent before morning. We have orders to
clear out before two in the morning. I am to have all his things packed
by midnight.

The British Consul has left Ghent.

The news spread through the "Flandria."

Max has gone about all day with a scared, white face. They say he is
suffering from cold feet. But I will not believe it. He has just
appeared in the mess-room and summoned me mysteriously. He takes me
along the corridor to that room of his which he is so proud of. There is
a brand-new uniform lying on the bed, the uniform of a French soldier
of the line. Max handles it with love and holy adoration, as a priest
handles his sacred vestments. He takes it in his arms, he spreads before
me the grey-blue coat, the grey-blue trousers, and his queer eyes are in
their solemnity large and quiet as dark moons.

Max is going to rejoin his regiment.

It is sheer nervous excitement that gave him that wild, white face.

Max is confident that we shall meet again; and I have a horrid vision of
Max carried on a bloody stretcher, a brutally wounded Max.

He has given me his address in Brussels, which will not find him there
for long enou