husband was worried
sick. We got a message through via The Hague and got word back this
morning that she was safe and well. I went up to tell him the good news.
He was presiding over some sort of committee meeting, and the maid said
I could not see him. I insisted that she should announce me and after
some argument she did. As the door opened, the buzz subsided and she
announced: "_Monsieur le Secretaire de la Legation d'Amerique_." There
was a terrible cry of fear and the old Count came running out white as a
sheet. Before he had come in sight I called out, "_Les nouvelles sont
bonnes!_" The old chap collapsed on my shoulder and cried like a baby,
saying over and over: "_J'etais si inquiet: j'etais si inquiet!_" He
soon pulled himself together and showed me out to the car with the
honours of war. We send and receive hundreds of telegrams of inquiry and
shoot them through in a perfectly routine way. It is only now and then
that we come to a realising sense of the human side of it all.

This afternoon I went over and made inquiry as to the well-being of
those who are cooped up in the German Legation. They are getting along
perfectly well, but are consumed with curiosity as to the progress of
the war. The Government has not allowed them to have any letters or
newspapers, and they are completely in the dark as to what is going on.
I felt like a brute to refuse them, but could not very well do anything
against the wishes of the Government. They were decent enough not to
embarrass me by insisting, which made it harder to refuse. The son of
Hofrath Grabowsky, the Chancellor of the Legation, is Secretary of the
German Consulate at Antwerp. He came down here to say good-bye to his
father the day war was declared, and lingered so long that he was cooped
up with the others. He is liable for military service in Germany, and
having left his post at Antwerp at such a time, he must face a court
martial whenever he does get home. There are five or six people there,
including the wife of the old Hofrath, who are firmly convinced that
they will all be murdered in their beds. It is my daily job to comfort
them and assure them that nobody now here is giving any thought to them.

Last night I dined with Colonel Fairholme and Kidston, the First
Secretary of the Legation. We went to the usually crowded terrace of the
Palace Hotel, where we had no difficulty in getting a table in the best
part of the balcony. The few other diners were nearly