CHAPTER VIIIEN ROUTE FOR THE FRONTIER
Thedistance we now had to go was very much shorter, but it was also more difficult, and we only arrived at the frontier the next morning, between ten and eleven. Had it not been for the intelligence and devotion of M. Thiébeaux and his friend M. Charles Jeannot, we should not have arrived at all.
It was a long, slow and painful journey, a regular Odyssey, across country entirely occupied by the enemy.
It is not my purpose in this short narrative to tell of its events and adventures ... that would take us too far and would only serve to revive sad memories. I only refer to it in token of gratitude to our courageous guides who carried us by night under a drenching rain through the lines of the army of occupation with no less intelligence than courage and presence of mind. It is clear that the Germans saw our balloonas well as M. Thiébeaux and his friends, and they at once set out to capture it. Fortunately for ourselves the forest and the rain prevented their following our movements and taking exact note of the place where we had come down.
At midnight we met some of M. Thiébeaux’ friends on the road, returning from a neighbouring fair. “Anything new?” asked our guide.
“Yes, a balloon has come from Paris. There were three or four persons in it, and the Uhlans are after them.”
“In which direction have they gone?”
“I believe they are pursuing them in the direction of Verdun.”
“Are there any Prussians in the neighbourhood of...?”
“No, they are at ... to-day.”
“Good-night.”
Our carriage again moved off, while M. Thiébeaux’ friends began to interrogate us as to whether there was anything new on our side. The place where the Uhlans were hoping to catch us was in exactly the opposite direction to the way we werenow going, and M. Thiébeaux rubbed his hands with pleasure at the knowledge that they were on a false scent.
At eight in the morning we arrived at Montmédy.
There we learnt the sad news of the surrender of Metz.
We were not far from the frontier, and crossed it an hour later, subsequently arriving at Virton, a little Belgian town which was swarming with French. Here we said good-bye to M. Thiébeaux and his friend M. Jeannot and took the first diligence for the nearest station on the Luxemburg railway, by which we arrived at ten or eleven at night at Brussels.
If I were to let myself be carried away by my memories, I would here throw a sidelight on the remarkable but saddening aspect of the Belgian capital, which was the temporary home of so many Frenchmen and the seat of so many diverse and conflicting passions, hopes, and fears. But what would be the use? I will say no more than that the city of Brussels was crowded with people. It was full ofFrenchmen and particularly Parisians. The faces of the stout Flemish burghers were bright and radiant and broader than usual; they were delighted with the golden flow of business, but, none the less, had no love for the French who brought them all this gold.
The Belgian capital, which I had often before visited and which had always charmed me by its beauty and elegance, then seemed to me ugly and hateful, and I only stayed there for as long as was absolutely necessary to get things in order for my departure.