Smiling, they
whispered to one another, and I saw several shake hands. A great moment.
The little Consul bowed finally and sat down.
Never shall I forget the applause that followed. Like one man the
thousands shouted, tears raining down their cheeks, shaking hands, even
embracing! A vast movement, as though the wind had caught them and
driven them forward, rose, lifted them, so that they swayed like bending
corn towards the platform, for an instant we were all caught up
together. There was one great cry: "Belgium!"
The sound rose, fell, sunk into a muttering whisper, died to give way to
the breathless attention that awaited the next speaker.
I whispered to Vera: "I shall never forget that. I'm going to leave on
that. It's good enough for me."
"Yes," she said, "we'll go."
"What a pity," whispered Uncle Ivan, "that they didn't understand what
they were shouting about."
We slipped out behind the platform; turned down the dark long passage,
hearing the new speaker's voice like a bell ringing beyond thick walls,
and found our way into the open.
The evening was wonderfully fresh and clear.
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