A sentry box or two, and sentries with carbines pacing along the
sand; the constant swish of the sea wind through the dead winter
grass; the half-buried garden seat--that is what the Queen of the
Belgians sees as she looks from the window of her villa.
The villa itself is small and ugly. The furnishing is the furnishing
of a summer seaside cottage. The windows fit badly and rattle in the
gale. In the long drawing room--really a living room--in which I
waited for the Queen, a heavy red curtain had been hung across the
lower part of the long French windows that face the sea, to keep out
the draft. With that and an open coal fire the room was fairly
comfortable.
As I waited I looked about. Rather a long room this, which has seen so
many momentous discussions, so much tragedy and real grief. A chaotic
room too; for, in addition to its typical villa furnishing of
chintz-covered chairs and a sofa or two, an ordinary pine table by a
side window was littered with papers.
On a centre table were books--H.G. Wells' "The War in the Air"; two
American books written by correspondents who had witnessed the
invasion of Belgium; and several newspapers. A hideous marble bust on
a pedestal occupied a corner, and along a wall was a very small
cottage piano. On the white marble mantel were a clock and two
candlesticks.
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