The raiders came again, again and again; casting their bombs sometimes into the fields north of the Chateau, sometimes on the sand dunes and sometimes right into the village itself. In intervals between their clinging together as the louder crashes reverberated and the whole house shook they dozed, until at last the grey daylight began to filter through the drawn blind. The air-raids eased a little after that and for a couple of hours they slept, but awoke again with a start to the sound of more exploding bombs quite close to them. As full daylight had now come, they washed and tidied themselves as well as they could in the poky little bedroom that in a normal year would have been occupied by some holiday-maker whose resources were extremely limited.
On going downstairs they found Kuporovitch lying sprawled across the sitting-room table in a drunken slumber; but he had beaten the brandy. All four bottles stood in a neat row before him—empty.
They tried to wake him to get him up to bed, but he was absolutely and completely out. Had a bomb fallen in the room he would have known nothing about it, but been blown to pieces in his sleep. Gregory got him over his shoulders, carried him upstairs, undressed him and put him in Erika's bed, since the only other lodger's room was that which he had shared with Paula and now sacred to its lone, still occupant.
Meanwhile Erika went in search of breakfast and as she was investigating the contents of a cupboard in the small kitchen the woman who owned the house came in. She had spent the night in a neighbour's cellar and on Erika's telling her of Paula's death she promised to go and fetch the village undertaker when she had heated up some coffee and cooked some eggs for them. While the meal was being prepared Erika and Gregory tidied the garishly-furnished sitting-room. The hot coffee revived them a little and they forced themselves to eat the eggs although they did not feel in the least hungry. Afterwards Erika said she would go round to the Chateau and find out when the King would receive Gregory, while he saw the undertaker and made arrangements about Paula's funeral.
Breedene was only a little place and the undertaker proved to be the village carpenter. He said that he already had seven orders for coffins on his hands and so could not possibly promise to furnish one for Paula until the next day. But Gregory felt that all of them would like to see Paula properly buried, and Heaven alone knew where the following day would find them, so he produced a thousand-franc note, at the sight of which the carpenter promised to give his order priority and have everything ready for the funeral to take place at midday.
Shortly afterwards Erika returned. She had not been able to see the King but had sent in a message by the Comte de Werbomont, after breaking the news of Paula's death to him. The Count had been terribly cut up but he had pulled himself together and seen King Leopold, returning with a written message for Erika, which read:
‘I had a good night's sleep and am feeling better. There will be conferences going on all day so I cannot see you before this evening, but as you are so insistent that I should talk to your friend bring him to the Chateau at ten o'clock. I give you my word that in the meantime I will not take any final decision.'
It was a perturbing thought that they must wait twelve long hours before anything further could be done to strengthen the King's will to resistance when so much hung in the balance; but they could only endeavour to possess themselves in patience.
'Do you happen to know Paula's religion?' Gregory asked.
'She came from a south German family and I'm certain that she was a Catholic,' Erika replied at once.
Gregory nodded. 'That's fortunate, as I don't expect we'd be able to find a Protestant pastor without going to Ostend. As it is, the local man can bury her; I'll go and fix matters up with him.'
While he was away Erika performed the last rites for her friend. The carpenter arrived at midday with the coffin and four villagers to act as bearers, with a farm wagon for hearse. One of them was sent off to tell the Comte de Werbomont that the funeral was about to take place and he joined them at the churchyard. Gregory kept himself well in the background, among the little group of villagers who had gathered round the open grave, in order to avoid any necessity arising for Erika to introduce him to the Count, a tail, thin man who with her took the place of chief mourner. Kuporovitch was still lying in a drunken stupor.
Erika and the Count walked back along the village street together, with Gregory following at a distance.
The Count left her at the door of the house in which she was staying and Gregory joined her inside two minutes later. When he asked if she had any news as to how things were going she said:
'The Count told me just now that the French are still holding the line of the Somme in the south and that further north the Germans seem to have been halted at Calais, but their corridor from Luxemburg to the coast is now about fifty miles wide. The Northern Armies have been forced into a compact triangle with only a short base along the strip of coast between Zeebrugge and Gravelines, and such a succession of hammer-blows are being delivered against the left side of the triangle it is feared that the Belgian Armies there may be battered to pieces.'
There had been only two air-raids during the morning, but during the afternoon they came almost hourly.
The landlady had disappeared again and Gregory did not like to leave Kuporovitch, who was still sleeping off his debauch, but he tried to persuade Erika to take refuge in the crypt of the church. She flatly refused, saying that if Fate ordained that he was to be killed she would rather die with him than live on without him, so they curled up on the sofa and got what rest they could, not knowing what activities the night might hold in store for them.
At seven o'clock they went downstairs and cooked themselves a meal; then they sat smoking in the sitting-room until a little before ten, when it was time for them to go to the Chateau. As darkness had fallen the raids had become still more intensive. Many buildings were down and the northern end of the village was on fire. Fortunately the wind was blowing from the south and Gregory did not think that there was any likelihood of the fire's spreading in the direction of their house so that Kuporovitch might be burnt in bed while he still slept, but he was considerably worried as to the effect that this almost continuous aerial bombardment might be having upon the mind of the King.
At the Chateau the servants, who knew Erika, let her pass but they would not allow Gregory through, so she sent in for de Werbomont and taking him aside told him that Gregory must remain nameless but the King had expressed a desire to see him. The Count then gave instructions that Gregory was to be allowed to enter, but the Captain of the Guard asked him to hand over any weapon that he might be carrying, so he had to surrender his pistol; de Werbomont then took them both into a small writing-room and left them.
A few minutes later he returned to fetch them and they followed him through the main hall. The Chateau was being used as the headquarters of the Belgian Army and Staff Officers were constantly coming and going through the passages; but they passed from the bustle and ringing of telephone bells down a short staircase to a basement corridor where everything was divided into two by a pair of heavy curtains. In normal times it had evidently been used as a recreation room, as a billiards table had been pushed up against one wall and an archery target still stood against another; but the place was now half filled with the King's luggage and personal belongings. Signing to Erika and Gregory to wait, de Werbomont tiptoed forward, parted the curtains, and said something in a low voice; then he held one of the curtains aside and beckoned the others to go through.