During all the time I was with him Verhagen did not speak a bitter word. On the contrary, he was calm–particularly calm as he stood beside the mound where the Belgian soldiers were buried in the center of the ruined town, pointed to the pile of bricks where he had lived, and told us how in two nights he had lost 340,000 francs, his son, his factory, and his home. It was from him, from the burgomaster’s wife, and from a priest that we learned the story of the city that had ceased to be.