Everywhere I went I found evidences of devotion to this girlish and
tender-hearted Queen. I was told of her farewell to the leading
officials of the army and of the court, when, having remained to the
last possible moment, King Albert insisted on her departure from
Brussels. I was told of her incognito excursions across the dangerous
Channel to see her children in England. I was told of her
single-hearted devotion to the King; her belief in him; her confidence
that he can do no wrong.
So, when a great and bearded individual, much given to bowing,
presented himself at the door of my room in the hotel at Dunkirk, and
extended to me a notification that the Queen of the Belgians would
receive me the next day at the royal villa at La Panne, I was keenly
expectant.
I went over my wardrobe. It was exceedingly limited and more than a
little worn. Furs would cover some of the deficiencies, but there was
a difficulty about shoe buttons. Dunkirk apparently laces its shoes.
After a period of desperation, two top buttons were removed and sewed
on lower down, where they would do the most good. That and much
brushing was all that was possible, my total war equipment comprising
one small suitcase, two large notebooks and a fountain pen.
I had been invited to lunch at a town on my way to La Panne, but the
luncheon was deferred.
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