hilosopher. Not all the strategy of the one or the philosophy of the
other could save us from unpleasant moments when we blundered
close to the lines of an unexpected enemy.

That was our experience on an early day in October, when we
decided to go to Bethune, which seemed an interesting place in the
war-zone.

It may seem strange in England that railway trains should still be
running in the ordinary way, according to the time-tables of peace, in
these directions, and that civilians should have been allowed to take
their tickets without any hint as to the danger at the journey's end. But
in spite of the horror of invasion, French railway officials showed an
extraordinary sang-froid and maintained their service, even when
they knew that their lines might be cut, and their stations captured,
within an hour or two. Ignorance also helped their courage and, not
knowing the whereabouts of the enemy even as well as I did, they ran
their trains to places already threatened by advancing squadrons.

On this October day, for example, there was no sign of surprise on
the part of the buxom lady behind the guichet of the booking-office
when I asked for a ticket to Bethune, although there had been heavy
fighting in that district only a few hours before, at the end of a great
battle extending over several days.

In the train itself were several commercial gentlemen, on their way to
Lille, by way of the junction at Arques, where they had to change; and
with two or three French soldiers, and a lady entirely calm and self-
possessed, they discussed the possibility of getting into a city round
which the German cavalry were reported to be sweeping in a great
tide. Another man who entered into conversation with me was going
to Bethune. He had a wife and family there and hoped they were
safe. It was only by a sudden thoughtfulness in his eyes that I could
guess that behind that hope was a secret fear, which he did not
express even to himself. We might have been a little party of people
travelling, say, between Surbiton and Weybridge on an autumn
afternoon, when the golf-ball flies across the links. Not one of them
showed the least sign of anxiety, the least consciousness of peril
close at hand.

Looking out of the carriage window I saw that trenches had been dug
in all the adjacent fields, and that new trenches were being made
hastily but efficiently by gangs of soldiers, who had taken off their blue
coats for once, and were toiling che