Certainly it
was the merest gibberish to that whole army of listening men.
Nevertheless, with every word that he uttered the emotion grew tenser.
Cries--little sharp cries like the bark of a puppy--broke out here and
there. "_Verrno! Verrno! Verrno_! (True! True! True!)" Movements, like
the swift finger of the wind on the sea, hovered, wavered, and
vanished....
He turned back to them, his voice broken with sobs, and he could only
cry the one word "Belgia... Belgia... Belgia"... To that they
responded. They began to shout, to cry aloud. The screams of "_Verrno...
Verrno_" rose until it seemed that the roof would rise with them.
The air was filled with shouts, "Bravo for the Allies." "_Soyousniki!
Soyousniki_!" Men raised their caps and waved them, smiled upon one
another as though they had suddenly heard wonderful news, shouted and
shouted and shouted... and in the midst of it all the little rotund
Belgian Consul stood bowing and wiping his eyes.
How pleased we all were! I whispered to Vera: "You see! They do care!
Their hearts are touched. We can do anything with them now!"
Even Uncle Ivan was moved, and murmured to himself "Poor Belgium! Poor
Belgium!"
How delighted, too, were the gentlemen on the platform.
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