tee, and he is contemptuous of
the orders of its Commandant. His business is to see that you go into
the Palais through _his_ door and not through any other door. And when
you tell him that if he will not withdraw his regulations the Ambulance
will be compelled to withdraw its services, he replies with delicious
sarcasm, "_Nous n'avons pas prevu ca_." In the end you are referred to
the Secretary in his bureau. He grasps the situation and is urbanity
itself. Provided with a special permit bearing his sacred signature, you
are admitted by the other door.

Your passage to the _Vestiaire_ takes you through the infants' room and
along the galleries past the wards. The crowd of refugees is so great
that beds have been put up in the galleries. You take off your outer
garments and put on the Belgian Red Cross uniform (you have realized by
this time that your charming white overall and veil are sanitary
precautions).

Coming down the wide wooden stairways you have a full view of the Inner
Hall. This enormous oblong space below the galleries is the heart, the
fervid central _foyer_ of the Palais des Fetes. At either end of it is
an immense auditorium, tier above tier of seats, rising towards the
gallery floors. All down each side of it, standards with triumphal
devices are tilted from the balustrade. Banners hang from the rafters.

And under them, down the whole length of the hall from auditorium to
auditorium, the tables are set out. Bare wooden tables, one after
another, more tables than you can count.

From the door of the sleeping-hall to each auditorium, and from each
auditorium down the line of the tables a gangway is roped off for the
passage of the refugees.

They say there are ten thousand five hundred here to-night. Beyond the
rope-line, along the inner hall, more straw has been laid down to bed
the overflow from the outer hall. They come on in relays to be fed. They
are marshalled first into the seats of each auditorium, where they sit
like the spectators of some monstrous festival and wait for their turn
at the tables.

This, the long procession of people streaming in without haste, in
perfect order and submission, is heart-rending if you like. The
immensity of the crowd no longer overpowers you. The barriers make it a
steady procession, a credible spectacle. You can take it in. It is the
thin end of the wedge in your heart. They come on so slowly that you can
count them as they come. They have sorted themselve