ening bars of "La Brabanconne" were
whistled at a distance. The air itself was a guarantee that no German
was near, because the Belgian national anthem is not pleasing to Hun
ears.

A typed note in the basket formed their sole link with the outer world.
And what momentous issues were conveyed in the briefest of sentences!

"Namur has fallen after a day's bombardment by a new and terrible
cannon."

"Brussels has capitulated without resistance."

"After a fierce battle, the French and English have retired from
Charleroi and Mons."

"The retreat continues. France is invaded. Valenciennes has fallen."

On the eleventh morning Dalroy hid among the bushes until the daily
basket was brought. Monsieur Pochard himself was the go-between. He
feared lest Leontine would contrive to meet Maertz, so the girl did not
know where her lover was hidden.

The Frenchman started visibly when Dalroy's voice reached him; but the
latter spoke in a tone which would not carry far. "I'm sorry to seem
ungrateful," he said, "but we are growing desperate. Do us one last
favour, monsieur, and we impose no more on your goodness. Tell me
where and when we can cross the Meuse, and the best route to take
subsequently. Sink or swim, I, at any rate, must endeavour to reach
England, and mademoiselle is equally resolved to make the attempt."

"I don't blame you," came the sorrowful reply. "This is going to be a
long war. Twenty years of deadly preparation are bearing fruit. I am
sick with anxiety. But I dare not loiter in this neighbourhood, so, as
to your affair, my advice is that you cross the Meuse to-morrow in broad
daylight. The bridge is repaired, and no very strict watch is kept.
Make for Nivelles, Enghien, and Oudenarde. The Belgians hold the
Antwerp-Gand-Roulers line, but are being driven back daily. I have
been thinking of you. If you delay longer you will--at the best--be
imprisoned in Belgium for many months. Are you determined?"

"Yes."

"Do you want money?"

"We have plenty."

"Farewell, then, and may God protect you!"

"Is there no chance of nearing the British force?" was Dalroy's final
and almost despairing question.

"Not the least. You would be following on the heels of a quick-moving
and victorious army. Progress is slower toward the coast. You have a
fighting chance that way, none the other. Good-bye, monsieur."

"Good-bye, best of friends!"

The sudden collapse of Namur, and the consequent failure of the
Anglo-Frenc